


Chicago Ghost Story

by Macx



Category: Real Ghostbusters, due South
Genre: Crossover, Ghosts, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started out as a well-deserved vacation ends in a robbed grave and ghostly hauntings for the Ghostbusters. Throw in a Mountie, his wolf and his seriously cold-ridden detective partner and things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicago Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> originally written in the mid-nineties

It was a slightly rainy night, with a slow drizzle obscuring the sight and a dense mist already rising above the ground. Dawn would come soon and it promised to be a bleary, grey day. Though everyone who didn't have pressing matters to attend was at home and either sleeping or doing what ever he had to do at this time of the night, two lonely figures crept silently over the Chicago Cemetery. Both were clad in dark clothes and one carried what looked like a small knapsack. The sodden ground squished under their heavy boots, their imprints filling with water as they went on. Then the one in the lead stopped, listening intently.

A flashlight darted over the ground and illuminated the gravestones and the crucifixes. Footsteps broke the silence of the graveyard and the two men stiffened, ducking behind the nearest bush. A guard came down the slope leading to the entrance gate. The man in the dark uniform was wearing a mac to keep the rain out. His flashlight danced across the stones and the graves, while he swiftly walked his rounds.

When the guard had vanished, the two men surfaced again, one of them releasing a breath.

"That was close," he muttered.

"Shut up," the second one hissed and resumed his way to wherever they were going.

After about five more minutes they arrived at a non-descript grave. It was an old grave, the stone looking washed-out and corroded by rain and the acids in the air. Gnarled little bushes decorated the immediate burial-place.

"That's it," the first man said and knelt down by the gravestone, brushing over the barely readable writing.

The second one looked doubtfully at the unkempt grave. It didn't look like much and it surely didn't look like the grave of a very rich guy. Disgustingly rich.

"Help me with the stone," his friend ordered.

"Are you sure that's the right one?" the second man voiced his doubts.

"Of course it's the right one. Look here, it says 'Ernest MacGray'. That's our guy."

The other man still looked doubtful, but he walked over to the grave and helped his friend to unhinge the stone. The stone looked like it was a splinter of a much larger piece of rock. Except for the washed-out lettering it could have been anything. It wasn't really hewn as a gravestone, simply as a kind of marker. With a grunt of combined effort the two men overturned the stone. They dragged it a few feet away from the grave, then got out the shovels and dug into the ground. After only  a few minutes the leader of the two struck something hard. He began to dig around the unyielding piece and finally both of them saw the coffin.

"It's stone!" the second man exclaimed.

"Shut up! You want the guard to hear us?" the first one hissed.

The coffin was really stone. It looked like a small sarcophagus, without the Egyptian imprint.

"How do you want to get the lid off? It must weigh tons!"

The leader grinned and pulled out what looked like a plastic detonator.

"Are you crazy!" his friend nearly cried. "You'll blow us both to pieces with that! And it will alert the guard!"

"No, it won't. This is baby is special. It's small, but very strong and it's more of an acid than a real explosive. It'll eat through the stone in no time!" He placed the small device on the lid. "Following our information the object is somewhere in the middle. Let's find out if that is correct."

His friend made a few steps back as the device activated and watched in horrid fascination as a small cloud of acid steam rose into the rainy night. Minutes later the stone lid had a hole the size of a football in it. The leader of the two jumped into the grave again and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. With it he lit up the hole.

A skeleton hand could be seen in the darkness and it was holding something. The second man gulped down his unease about grave robbery and leaned forward. The object in the skeleton hand was a skull. It wasn't a bone skull, but looked like it had been made out of stone. His friend reached inside the coffin and twisted the skull out of the vice-like grip of the skeleton, holding it into the light of the flashlight.

"Don't know what he wants to do with that thing, but it's worth a whole lotta money." He grinned.

The other man shrugged, shivering a bit. Was it his overactive imagination or had it gotten much colder around here? His friend opened the knapsack and put the skull inside. Suddenly a flashlight pinned them in its center.

"Who's there?" a voice shouted. "Stop where you are!"

"Shit!" the first of the two cursed and his friend saw the guard from a few minutes earlier standing not far away from them.

"What now?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

As an answer his friend pulled out a handgun and aimed at the guard.

"Are you crazy?" His voice rose into a hysteric shrill and he tried to grab the gun.

But before he could do anything the leader fired a shot. It rang over the cemetery and it appeared to be unnaturally loud. The flashlight described an arc and then fell to the ground. He heard as a heavy body hit the sodden ground.

"You killed him!" he shrieked in absolute terror.

"What should I have done? Let him arrest us?" his partner asked coldly.

"We ... we could have made a run for it or something."

"Or something," the other one sneered. "Right. Get your act together and come on. We've gotta get outta here." With that he took the knapsack and left the violated grave.

His friend stared at the lonely flashlight illuminating the grave, then at the body next to it. It was really cold around here now and the mist seemed to grow even denser. An eerie sound seemed to echo over the graveyard and the man felt goose pimples rise on his skin. He turned abruptly and left in a hurry, following his partner.

Minutes after they had disappeared a cold, blue light shone from inside the violated grave. The light rose out of the hole in the ground, solidified and then drifted over to the dead guard. It remained there for just a second, then vanished as if it had never been there. The flashlight went out as if someone had turned it off.

 

* * *

 

"Achooooo!"

The violent sneeze echoed through the squad room and a few of the as to now still healthy officers ducked, as if it would help them escape the viruses now set free to seek another host.

Ray Vecchio sniffled and reached for a Kleenex box. It was empty. With a hearty curse he opened a drawer and began searching through it, all the while sniffling. Finally he found the object of his desire, a cardboard box full of Kleenex. He fished out one of the hankies and cleaned his nose, then threw the tissue paper into his already full waste basket. Then he adjusted the scarf he had wrapped around his neck. A thick, woolen sweater with a large turtle-neck collar completed the mummy-look.

The flu bug had built a fortress in the precinct, disabling most of the officers and aides, though some were still coming in for work. It had started out two weeks ago, when Detective Hershew had fallen victim to the flu and had to stay home. But it had already been too late. More officers followed, staying home or going home soon after arriving at work. Three days ago Ray had felt the flu coming, his head aching and his eyes burning. But he was determined not to go under like the others.

"Aaachoooo!"

"Bless you."

Ray took a handful of tissue papers and stifled another sneeze. Then he looked up.

Benton Fraser stood in front of his desk. He was -- as most of the times -- dressed in his red Mountie uniform, looking immaculately polished and clean. Some snow flakes were melting on his hat, which he had tugged under his arm. His heavy winter overcoat hung at the hatstand.

Chicago had had an early brush with the winter weather that was still to hit the city. This was only a messenger for the larger snow storm still to follow. The weather forecast told that next week should be much better, but Ray didn't believe it. Winter was early this year and it would stay cold and snowy until Spring, he had no doubt about it.

"Hello, Fraser," he greeted his Canadian friend, his voice rough.

"You should go back home, Ray, and take some medication," Fraser returned instead of a greeting.

"Yeah, right. And the crime in this city should take some days off and go on holiday," the detective retorted. "Get real, Fraser. Half the precinct is on sick leave; I'm working on more cases than I've had in my whole career, and I don't want to loose one of the big ones because I've got this damn flu bug!"

He wiped his reddened nose, irritated, and shuffled some papers, trying to get a clear space on his desk -- which seemed an impossible task. There wasn't a square inch not covered by copies, folders or Kleenex.

"Latest case is the murder of some guy at the graveyard," Ray went on and produced the appropriate folder. "Some weirdo opened a grave, demolished the coffin and killed the guard." He shook his head. "And I have the case."

Fraser took the folder from the desk and read over the short report and looked at the pictures taken.

"It's a stone coffin," he then commented.

"So what?"

"It's not the normal procedure to bury a man in a stone coffin."

Ray sighed. "I'm not questioning the dead guy for his taste of burial procedures, Fraser. I'm trying to get the freak who killed the guard."

"The hole in the lid," the Mountie went on, undaunted by his friend's comment. "Is it handmade?"

"How should I know?" Ray asked and searched for a Kleenex. Then he sneezed again. "I just got the folder. Haven't even interviewed the guard from the day shift."

"From the looks of the hole, the nearly smooth edges, it must have been either burned or cut into the stone with a drill. Why would someone drill a hole in a coffin?" Fraser's blue eyes showed puzzlement. "Was something stolen from the coffin?"

Vecchio threw the Kleenex into the already overflowing waste basket. "I don't know, Fraser," he repeated.

The Canadian rose to his feet and looked expectantly at his Chicagoan friend.

"What?" Ray asked suspiciously.

"We should interview the guard from the day shift. You said you haven't done that yet. Maybe we find a clue to why someone should go to these lengths to open a grave and then kill a harmless night guard. If those who did it where simple violators, they would have left the burial-place after discovery." Fraser shrugged into his overcoat.

Ray gave a heartfelt sigh and rose, too, snatching his coat from the chair and following Fraser outside. "Why is it always me?" he asked no one specific.

 

* * *

 

It should have been their holiday. At least that was what Ray Stantz had decided the trip to Chicago was supposed to be. After months of endless seeming busts the four Ghostbusters had been in bitter need of a break. Peter Venkman had voted for a week or two at the beach, preferably in Florida. But somehow, throughout the whole discussion of a vacation, they had ended up with Chicago. For one, there was a large exhibition there now, which Egon wanted to see. Two, Ray's friend had just moved to Chicago and he wanted to see how his shop was doing. Three, Winston had supported the idea of visiting Chicago since there was a possibility that he could see his sister and his brother-in-law, who had moved to Detroit two months ago, after returning from three years of staying in Europe. It had been three against one and Peter had reluctantly agreed to this.

"Some holiday," he muttered and stared out of the rental car's window. The sky was grey, it had been raining continually since they had arrived last week and it was getting colder and colder every day. Today it had started to snow.

"What did you say?" Ray sounded abominably cheerful for such a miserable day.

Peter had spent most of his vacation time indoors, had even visited a museum or two with Egon, but he would have relaxed more on a bust than here. It was dreadful! Next time he'd get the final vote and it would be sunny and beachy Florida!

"I said next time we're going to Florida," he said aloud.

Ray grinned. "C'mon, it isn't that bad, Peter. We have a bad streak of weather, but the forecast said it'll be sunny next weekend."

"We're leaving next weekend," Peter told him.

The occultist shrugged, not the least concerned about the weather. He drove the rental car down another street and then found a parking space. He stopped the car, reversed and then slid smoothly into the open space between an old Ford and a Buick.

"We're here," Stantz told his friend and Peter heaved a sigh, getting out of the car.

Looking around he discovered they were no longer in Downtown Chicago. The street appeared deserted and the few shops he saw didn't look like they were selling like crazy. Amidst the small shops was a book shop. It stuck out since it was freshly painted in a dark, deep green color and the window display was clean. A wooden sign said 'Tom's Things'. Judging from the display the book shop sold occult stuff. What else had he expected from one of Ray's friends?

Ray walked straight toward the small shop and Peter followed. The occultist entered and a bell rang, announcing their entry. The room Peter was now standing in was larger than expected, but crammed with books and other stuff. There were crystal balls, rabbit paws, pointy hats, stuffed animals, little amulets and other items you could find in such stores. The whole room was brightly lit, not so dark and mysterious as many places which sold occult stuff.

A man came from the adjoining room. Peter guessed he was about 40 or 45, with thinning, brown hair and a belly. His round face held a cheery look, one that could match Ray's. As he discovered the two Ghostbusters, the smile broadened even more.

"Ray!" he called happily. "Glad you could make it, lad!" There was a slight Scottish accent to his voice, one that could easily be dismissed.

The two men greeted each other enthusiastically, then Ray turned to Peter.

"Tom, that's my friend Peter Venkman. Peter, this is Tom O'Hare."

Tom pumped the psychologist's hand. "Nice to meet you, Peter." Then he turned to Ray again. "Where are your other friends?"

"Egon's in the museum and Winston drove down to Detroit with Ecto-1 to visit his sister and brother-in-law yesterday. We're expecting him back either tomorrow or the day after that."

"Too bad. But it's nice of you two to drop by. Come on," he waved, "let's get into the office."

Peter and Ray followed Tom to the next room, which was spacey and bright, too. There was a large desk full of papers and books, a high shelf, equally cluttered with books, and a coffee machine and fridge. Peter even discovered a small TV and VCR.

"Home away from home," Tome chuckled as he saw Peter's eyes widen at the sight of the equipment.

"It's nothing you'd expect in an occult shop," Venkman said.

"Well, I've a different philosophy about the looks of an occult shop than my colleagues. I used to bump into chairs and the counter whenever I moved around the dark rooms you normally call an occult shop. Then I decided 'what the heck?' and redecorated. People still come and buy, beside the cheerier atmosphere. It helps to see the merchandise, y'know?" Tom grinned broadly.

Peter couldn't help but like the guy.

"How's your business going as such?" Ray wanted to know.

"Couldn't be better. You should be here around Halloween. Stuff sells like crazy. And don't worry, lad," the older man smiled, "I'm checking my customers and nothing serious goes anywhere dangerous."

Ray nodded. He knew what could happen if the wrong person played with the wrong spells. Disaster was too mild a word for it.

"Anybody want something to drink?" O'Hare asked. He went over to the fridge and looked inside. "I have various juices, one last bottle of beer and some cold tea."

"Some nice, hot coffee would do fine," Peter told him and Tom nodded.

"One hot coffee coming up!" He switched on the coffee machine and got out a cup. "Ray?"

"The same."

Another cup followed. Then O'Hare took a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge and poured himself a glass.

"Say, did you hear about the grave robbery?" he suddenly wanted to know.

"Grave robbery?" Ray echoed, his interest clearly written on his face.

"Yeah, some guy opened the grave of Ernest MacGray last night and violated the coffin." Tom paused and raised both eyebrows.

Ray's eyes had widened at the name. "Ernest MacGray?" he breathed.

"Who's Ernest MacGray?" Peter wanted to know.

"Ernest MacGray was one of the Circle in 1896," Tom explained. "He died under mysterious circumstances after he had received the Merlin's skull. They buried him here in Chicago and yesterday night the grave was violated."

"The Merlin's skull? The real skull?" Ray's eyes threatened to pop out. "Wow!"

"Guys, whoa, one after another," Peter tried to get a hang of what was going on here. "What Circle are we talking about and what is this skull?"

"The Circle was a secret community, an occult community, who practiced magic. It never bordered to the dangerous, because all of the men belonging to the Inner Circle were occult experts," Ray explained quickly, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "MacGray was one of the five men of the Inner Circle and he was also the only one who had any experience with real magic. It is said that his goal in life was to possess the fabled skull of Merlin."

"Merlin like in 'the guy with the pointy hat and the white beard from King Art'?" Peter wanted to know.

Both men nodded.

"Are we talking skeletons here?"

Tom shook his head as he poured Ray and Peter their coffee. "No. The Merlin's skull isn't the skull of a dead person. It's a manmade skull, made out of black stone. It's said that this skull is the focus point of the magic Merlin wielded. It's a power source." He gave each a cup.

"And old Ernie died after he received it." Peter raised an eyebrow and stirred the black liquid with a spoon. "What happened with the skull?"

Tom smiled. "They buried it with him. It was his last wish and a wish they respected."

"And now it was stolen?" Ray wanted to know.

"Yes. As far as I know from someone I know at the police there wasn't a single piece of the skull in the coffin. Someone burned or drilled a hole into the coffin, took out the skull, killed the guard of the cemetery and left."

Peter frowned. "So it's a homicide case."

Tom shook his head. "No, not really. The murder of the guard falls into the area of the police department, but the Merlin's skull is a powerful occult object. Whoever went through all that trouble to get it must know what it means. Why else should someone violate a grave that is nearly a hundred years old? None of the Inner Circle even bothered to keep the skull. They agreed to bury it in the grave, together with MacGray. They knew what it meant to keep the skull. If someone taps into the power stored in it ... I don't even want to imagine what he could do."

"We have to find the skull," Ray decided.

"Whoa, slow down, kid," Peter cautioned. "We don't have to do anything before we haven't discussed this with Egon and Winston. At least Egon, since Winston won't be back anytime soon."

"We have to find the skull," the occultist repeated stubbornly. "If it falls into the wrong hands it could mean a disaster."

"What kind of disaster are we talking about?" Venkman wanted to know.

"Remember the Door of Doomsday?"

Peter nodded. "That bad?"

"Worse."

"Worse?"

Ray looked very serious as he said: "The skull possesses so much dormant power, following every legend and story there is, that it could change this planet into a whole new dimension. Merlin wielded those powers and used them for good. If someone uses them for evil ... he'd be omnipotent."

Peter chewed his lower lip, digesting these information. "Okay," he finally said reluctantly. "We'll go and tell Egon. Maybe he comes up with a brilliant plan to find that thing. Then we'll have to find out what the police knows and if they're willing to let us help." He grimaced. "Though I don't have any high hopes."

 

* * *

 

Benton Fraser leaned against the wall of the small guard house and watched the snow outside. It had started to get worse since they had gotten here and following the grey and cloudy sky it wouldn't get any better soon. Strange, he thought. This time of the year was known to have occasional rain showers, but since yesterday the rain had taken on a steady notion, turning into snowy flakes now and then, and the sky showed no sign of clearing up. The forecast had said that the weekend would be better and that the rain would stop throughout the day, but Fraser's opinion went contrary. This looked like just the beginning of a long period of bad weather.

"..... and when I came to work I found no trace of John," the guard from the day shift said.

Fraser pulled his attention away from the weather to the case at hand. They had driven over to the cemetery to interview the day shift guard, who had found the body when he had opened the gates for the first visitors. Philip Hamilton was a man in his late fourties with greying hair and a slim figure. His lively brown eyes showed his disgust at the murder which had happened here.

"I called the police and told them everything I know."

"My colleague working on this case is sick," Ray explained. "I took over and I want to take a look around."

Hamilton nodded. "Sure, you can go and look. The cemetery is mostly empty at this time of the day -- and with this blasted snow nobody stays long."

"Was anybody else here last night, beside Mr. Lewis?" Fraser asked.

Hamilton shook his head. "No. Johnny and I work single shifts. It's a quiet job with nothing much to do but walk your rounds and watch TV the rest of the time."

Ray glanced at Fraser, who merely shrugged. Then the police officer looked at the snow outside, sighing. "Okay, let's take a look at the burial-place." With that he readjusted his scarf, pulled his hat down over his ears, took his umbrella and opened the door, shivering in the cold wind.

Fraser closed his coat and put on his broad-rimmed hat. It kept most of the snow away. Diefenbaker, Fraser's white wolf, ran happily down the walkway. He didn't mind the snow at all, just like his master.

They walked to the violated grave, which was clearly visible because of the yellow police lines all around it. The place where the dead guard had been found was marked with a few poles with white flags on them. A plastic blanket had been draped over the coffin to keep out the water. Ray stopped at the open grave and looked unenthusiastically around. Fraser didn't hesitate and jumped into the open grave, pulling back the plastic cover to take a closer look at the coffin.

"Fraser!" Ray exclaimed.

"Don't worry, Ray. I won't disturb the evidence," the Mountie said calmly, all the time examining the stone coffin. "It looks like the hole was either burned or expertly drilled into the lid." He frowned, leaning closer.

"What is it?" Ray asked, experience with his Canadian friend telling him that Fraser had found something very interesting -- at least for him.

"I think something was taken from the coffin."

Ray came closer to the grave, all the time watching out that he wasn't slipping on the wet ground. It wasn't his idea of a fun day to slide into an open grave. Diefenbaker sniffed the ground and growled a bit, then disappeared behind some bushes.

"What gives you that idea?" Ray wanted to know.

"The position of the hands. It looks like the deceased was holding something in his hands and now it was taken away."

Ray glanced at the overturned grave stone and noted the date of death. "Fraser, the guy died nearly a hundred years ago! The position of the hands could have changed through a dozen of things, like decay." He shuddered.

"No, I don't think so. It looks like the hands held something and it was twisted out of their grip. The fingers on the left hand are broken and that wouldn't happen if the body had not been disturbed. I think we should call Forensics and let them examine the remains." Fraser looked up to where Ray stood, umbrella in his hands, looking miserably cold.

"Welsh's gonna kill me," the detective muttered, but then shrugged. "Okay. I'll call in and tell them to move their butt out here."

With that he stalked back to the guard house. He wasn't planning to call the precinct via the cellphone -- not out here where it was snowing like mad.

 

* * *

 

Lt. Harding Welsh sat in his chair and eyed the three men standing in front of his desk warily. They had introduced themselves as Drs. Egon Spengler, Peter Venkman and Ray Stantz, Ghostbusters. Welsh had heard of the Ghostbusters, about what they had done and what they were still doing. He wasn't a Believer himself. Ghosts were superstitions in his eyes. But he believed in crazy freaks and weirdoes, and in cults.

"So what you are telling me, Dr. Stantz, is that someone stole an artifact out of MacGray's coffin, possibly someone with a connection to a cult." He steepled his fingers and regarded the stocky man with a neutral expression in his eyes.

Stantz nodded. "Yes. The skull of Merlin is a known object of power in many cults and it was lost to them until now. No one knew it was buried with MacGray in 1896."

"Except for those who buried him."

He nodded.

"So we don't only have a murder, but grave robbery too." Welsh frowned with displeasure. "Since no one of the MacGray family can be found it's merely a matter of destroying city property and causing undue demolition. But ..." he continued as he saw the clouding faces of the three men, "we are already investigating in this matter. If something was really stolen from the coffin ..."

A knock interrupted him and he glanced over to the door. Detective Ray Vecchio poked his head in, his eyes traveling over the three visitors, then fixed on Welsh.

"Sir?"

"Come in, Vecchio," Welsh ordered.

Ray followed the order and entered, followed by the Mountie. Welsh surpressed a sigh. This didn't bode well. Everytime Benton Fraser was in league with Vecchio something was bound to happen. Something he didn't really like.

"What's up?" the Lieutenant asked.

"It's about the latest case I'm working on," Vecchio began carefully, still eyeing the Ghostbusters.

"Detective Vecchio, these are the Doctors Stantz, Venkman and Spengler. They were just supplying information for your case. You can talk freely."

Ray looked curiously at the three men, then turned back to his superior. "Sir, Constable Fraser and I examined the grave. Constable Fraser believes something was stolen from the coffin. I called Forensics and they are on it right now."

"The Merlin's skull!" Ray Stantz exclaimed.

"What?" Vecchio asked, slightly confused.

Fraser only raised an eyebrow.

"You see," Stantz addressed Welsh. "Someone really stole the skull. We have to find that person before it's too late."

"Someone stole MacGray's skull?" Vecchio echoed. "That's impossible."

"Not MacGray; Merlin!" The stocky Ghostbuster corrected.

"What's Merlin gotta do with MacGray?" Ray Vecchio was completely at a loss now.

"Gentlemen, I think you should discuss that privately," Welsh interrupted whatever Ray Stantz had wanted to say. "Vecchio, these three men are advisors on this case. They seem to have some knowledge concerning the artifact stolen from the coffin. I want you to work with them as far as possible."

Vecchio looked like he wanted to object, but Welsh left him no room, simply shot him a silencing glare.

"Yes, Sir," the detective mumbled not at all enthused. Then he gestured to the three men. "Follow me."

Welsh watched them leave the office and only sighed. With half his men on sick leave and the other half barely healthy enough to type a simple report it wasn't hard to imagine what his hope concerning the solution of this case was -- especially after he had just allowed three civilians to take part in this game.

 

* * *

 

He paced nervously up and down in the small hotel room. Where was he? Zachary Nowak stopped in front of the window and stared outside into the rainy city. The hotel was in one of the worse parts of Chicago, but this insured anonymity and the privacy Nowak needed.

"Shit, where are you, Alec," he muttered and resumed his pacing. It was already getting dark outside and Alec had been gone for more than two hours, getting the stolen skull from its hiding place in a bus depot's locker and arranging a meeting with the boss.

Two long hours.

A little gnawing doubt sneaked into his mind. Maybe Alec had taken off with the money -- without him.

No, Alec wouldn't do that. Alec was his friend and had been his friend for a long time.

Suddenly there was a sound. Zachary listened up as he thought he heard footsteps outside in the corridor. Maybe it was Alec returning back to the room. Then again, it could be one of the many drunks living here, too. The footsteps stopped and then there was silence. No door opening or closing, no one knocking. Nervously, the grave robber walked over to the door and listened intently. Nothing.

Then he noticed the mist flowing around his feet. He gave a yelp and jumped back as more mist billowed in through the slit.

 _Fire!_ was the first thing flashing through his mind, but then -- there was no alarm. And the mist wasn't really smoke from a fire.

The mist rose from the floor, forming a semi-human figure, beginning to glow in a bluish light. Zachary shrieked in panic as the misty figure moved toward him, lifting a arm-like extension.

 _"Murderer!"_ a hollow voice whispered.

His shriek turned into a terrified cry.

 

* * *

 

"So, let me get this straight," Ray Vecchio said, pacing up and down in the interrogation room they had occupied to use as a conference room. "You think some weirdo opened the coffin, took out an old artifact the dead guy was holding and is now planning world domination?" His tone of voice told Peter Venkman that he didn't take them very seriously, beside the fact that his superior had ordered him to work with them on this case.

"In a way," the psychologist said.

"You said yourself that you discovered that something was missing from the coffin," Ray Stantz pointed out.

"I didn't say anything like that. My friend said he thinks something is missing and until we can find some proof to that it's still a simple violation and destruction of private property."

Vecchio sneezed and grabbed for the Kleenex box sitting on the table. He cleaned his nose. He neither sounded nor looked all that healthy, Peter decided, and he should be in bed, not investigating a murder.

"Have you found any relatives from Mr. MacGray?" Egon asked.

Vecchio shook his head, rubbing his reddened eyes. "Nope. He never married as far as we know from the books, and there's no relative running around and screaming violation and trying to sue the city."

"Maybe we can find something about Ernest MacGray in 'Tobin's'," Ray Stantz suggested. "If he was really one of the Inner Circle I bet 'Tobin's' has something on him."

Egon nodded. "We should also research the Merlin's skull."

Vecchio frowned. "What's this 'Tobin's'?"

"It's a guide to the supernatural and out-of-the-ordinary," Spengler explained.

"I should have known," the detective muttered.

Suddenly the door opened and Vecchio's partner, or whatever he was -- Peter wasn't sure whether a Canadian Mountie was part of the Chicago police force or not -- entered. The white dog that seemed to be the Mountie's pet followed him into the room and regarded the Ghostbusters curiously. Peter only hoped the dog was well-mannered and not bound to slobber all over him. Much to his relief it padded over to Ray who, with a delighted smile, scratched it behind his ears. Seconds later the occultist and the dog had become best friends and the white animal's head rested on Ray's lap as it rumbled in pleasure at the treatment.

The Mountie was wearing his brown standard uniform, holding his hat in one hand. In the other hand Peter saw a Manila folder. He glanced at the three Ghostbusters, curiosity shining in his eyes, but he didn't say anything or asked any questions.

"What's up?" Vecchio wanted to know, then sneezed heartily. "I hate that flu bug," he muttered.

"I have the report from Forensics," the Canadian said and held up the folder. "They just came back from the cemetery and this is only preliminary, but ..."

Before he could say any more Vecchio had snatched the folder from his hands. He skimmed over the report and sighed deeply.

"I hate to say it," he then said, "but you were right, Fraser. Something was taken from the skeleton's hands, following this report."

Fraser nodded. "Yes. The report supports what I saw in the coffin. Forensics also found some traces of an acid they still have to define on the stone of the lid and a few drops on the bones."

"You looked inside the coffin?" Peter asked, incredulous.

"I only examined the hole," Fraser corrected. "But while doing that I noticed that the visible skeleton hands were broken in several places and that the fractures were very fresh and recent. It could not have happened when Ernest MacGray had been buried."

The three Ghostbusters looked at each other and Vecchio grinned proudly, like father whose son had just scored the winning point in a game. Then he grew more serious.

"Okay, so we have not only a murder, but a theft, too. Problem is, what was stolen?"

"The Merlin's skull," Ray Stantz answered, still patting the dog and ruffling its fur.

Vecchio sighed. "Dr. Stantz, as much as I want to believe in your story, you have to confess it's pretty outrageous."

The occultist wanted to say something, but Egon laid a hand on his arm. "He's right, Ray. We need evidence. We only think it was the Merlin's skull and until we can prove that MacGray was indeed buried with it we have to take into account that it could be anything."

"But Tom said ..."

Egon only shook his head and Ray slumped into silence.

"Do you have anything on the guy who did it?" Peter now wanted to know. "Any suspects?"

"We're working on it. Word on the street is that some little crook, Alec Dawson, pulled off the thing," the detective answered. "Patrol cars are looking for him and his partner."

"You think he had a partner?"

Vecchio gave him a tired grin. "He couldn't have pulled it off by himself. My contact said the same."

"Could we take a look at the opened grave?" Egon asked.

"Why?" was the simply question in return.

"I want to see if there are P.K.E. traces anywhere near or around the grave. If the object stolen from the grave was really the Merlin's skull, we might find a trace and with that reading we could easily follow it." The physicist looked expectantly at Vecchio.

The detective didn't look convinced.

"I think it is a good idea, Ray," Fraser suddenly spoke up, surprising not only Vecchio with his statement.

The dog at Ray's side whined and then growled as if it wanted to say that this was his opinion, too.

"Fraser, did you listen to what they just said?" Vecchio exclaimed. "They are looking for magic objects and ghosts!"

The Mountie looked unruffled. "So?"

"Don't tell me you believe in ghosts!"

There was an expression on Fraser's face that was hard to describe. Embarrassment would be the closest description. Vecchio groaned.

"I should have known," he muttered and surpressed a sneeze. "I really should have known."

"There have been studies confirming the existence of paranormal phenomena," the Canadian said reasonably. "And these three gentlemen are known world-wide for their experience in that area."

Vecchio grumbled something under his breath, then sighed. "Okay. You can take a look at the grave. You got a car?"

The Ghostbusters nodded.

"Good. Ask Elaine for directions and tell her to inform the cemetery guard that he lets you in." With that the detective left the interrogation room.

Fraser took the folder lying on the table. "I'm sorry for his behavior," he apologized.

Peter shrugged. "We're used to disbelievers."

"But you believe in ghosts, don't you, Mr. Fraser?" Ray Stantz wanted to know.

Fraser's face suddenly had that expression again and this time Peter was sure that he wasn't only embarrassed, but also deeply disturbed.

"Paranormal phenomena have been reportedly sighted," the Mountie evaded a direct answer. "It's scientifically proven as not being purely a hoax." He went toward the door. "I'll tell Elaine to help you in every way possible." With that he fled from the room, followed by his reluctant pet, which was visibly disappointed to leave its newly found friend Ray so soon.

"Anybody but me got the impression that the guy is hiding something?" Peter asked casually.

Egon nodded. "He seems to have experienced something in the field of the paranormal that he doesn't want to talk about." The blond physicist rose from his chair. "I think we should drive to the cemetery now. It's getting dark and I want to see the grave in as much daylight as possible."

The other two nodded and left the room. As they walked through the squad room they were intercepted by a dark-skinned woman with long, curly black hair.

"You are the Ghostbusters?" she asked.

Peter gave her his most charming smile. She was the best thing he had seen in this precinct so far. "Dr. Peter Venkman," he introduced himself. "These are my colleagues." He gestured vaguely at Ray and Egon.

"Elaine Besbriss," she introduced herself and there was a look in her eyes that told Peter she had had her share of superficial smiles.

"Constable Fraser told me you need the address of the cemetery. I'll also call the guard and inform him of your arrival."

Peter smiled winningly. "Thank you, Elaine."

Elaine gave Egon a slip of paper, pointedly ignoring Peter. "That's the address. Do you have a map?"

The physicist nodded.

"Okay. It's really easy to find. No problem. My number is also on the paper. If you have trouble, call in."

Peter snatched the paper from Egon's hands. "I might take you up on that offer," he crowed.

Elaine grimaced and shook her head. "I gotta do some work now," she muttered and returned to her desk.

"Come on, Peter, we have to go," Ray urged and grabbed his older friend by one elbow, pushing him toward the door.

"Hey, you don't have to shove," Peter protested, but went along.

Outside, the weather had grown colder, but at least it wasn't raining any longer.

"If I remember correctly we should be at the cemetery in thirty minutes," Egon said and sat down inside the car.

Ray took place behind the wheel and started the engine.

"With our boy wonder at the wheel we'll make it in fifteen," Peter teased and snapped the seat-belt shut.

"Peter!" Ray protested and pushed the car into gear. Then he left the curb and drove down the street.

 

* * *

 

A crowd of people had gathered around the hotel building that was known to be a lowlife scum lodging. A police car was parked at the curb and a coroner's car had stopped right behind it. Right now two men working for the coroner's service wheeled a stretcher out of the building. On the stretcher was a zipped up, black body bag. The street people, who had gathered curiously around the hotel, craned their necks to get a good look.

"Please stay back," one of the police officers instructed and pushed some spectators back behind the yellow police line.

Another police officer walked over to the pathologist who had been called to the scene.

"What do you think?" he asked and watched the stretcher pushed into the back of the hearse.

"Looks like he bled to death. Not a pretty sight in there."

"I know. I've been inside." He had indeed. Officer Meyers had been the first to be called to the scene and had been received by a hysteric girl and some numb looking men and women, mostly street people. The hysteric girl, as far as he knew, had been the one to find the body -- lying dead on the floor with blood everywhere.

"Suicide?" Meyers asked. It wouldn't be an astounding news.

The pathologist shook his head. "No. I don't want to guess around blindly, but it looks like someone ripped out his throat."

"Whew." The police officer scratched his head. "Bad," he commented.

"Yes, bad. I'll have more after the autopsy, so don't quote me." He headed for his car and left the scene.

"Okay, keep back, fellows!" one of the other policemen shouted.

Meyers sighed and went back to the task at hand -- finding witnesses.

 

* * *

 

"Hm, that's interesting," Egon muttered as he walked around the open grave, P.K.E. meter in one hand, his eyes fixed on the small read-out screen.

Peter wondered if there would ever be a time when Egon didn't have his meter with him. You could go to the beach with him, dressed only in swim wear, and Egon would find a way to carry along his P.K.E. meter -- without any of the others noticing it.

"What?" Ray wanted to know. He was taking some pictures with the Ecto-camera he and Egon had modified lately. Like Egon he always seemed to carry some equipment around. It was bad enough that the Tobin's Guide had accompanied them on their holiday because Egon spent most of the evening pouring over the recent updates; now they also had their gizmos to play with.

"There's a definite presence here. Or more precisely: there was a very strong presence here but it has disappeared."

"The skull?" the occultist asked.

Spengler shook his head. "I don't think so. This is a class-4. No artifact would read class-4." He began to turn some dials. "But there is a reading which might point to the presence of the skull. It is very weak, though."

Peter came over to the two scientists and looked into the grave. He shuddered theatrically and turned to his friends. "So where does this get us?" he wanted to know.

"It gets us to a very interesting point. Obviously something escaped from the coffin. A class-4 apparition. Then again something was taken from the grave, too, but it doesn't radiate P.K. energy as strongly as the apparition."

"Could it be MacGray's ghost?" Ray asked.

"Possible."

"And now he's out to get back what was stolen from him," Peter mused aloud.

Egon nodded with a grave expression on his face. "That is very likely. There are reports of ghosts seeking revenge when their grave was opened. I remember one very interesting report about a ghost trying to get back his belongings, which had been taken from his grave. The three persons involved died a gruesome death."

"I don't wanna hear any more about it," Peter interrupted his older friend. "It comes down to a revengeful ghost and a lot of danger for the thieves, right?"

The other two Ghostbusters nodded.

"We have to find them before something happens. This ghost, if he follows all the reports I have read," Egon added, "is very ruthless and won't even stop from killing innocents. His only goal is to get back what was stolen from him. If the stolen object is really the Merlin's skull then the ghost is even more dangerous. But to ascertain that fact I have to research some points, especially any notes of the reading or classification of the skull."

"I'm sure they have some books at the library," Ray said. "'Tobin's' might not have all the information we need."

"Guys, it's past opening hours," Peter reminded them.

"That's true. Ray, I think we should start by going through every file in the Guide. I also want to modify the P.K.E. meter so it only picks up the ghost's and the skull's readings, though I'm not very hopeful were the skull is concerned. The reading I have is too weak for a long-range scan." Egon shut down his own P.K.E. meter. "We also should inform the police."

"That a ghost is out for revenge?" Peter looked doubtful. "We could do that in New York, but not here. You heard Vecchio. He doesn't believe us."

"But Constable Fraser does," Ray objected.

"He's a Canadian Mountie, not an American police officer."

"True, but he believes," Egon put in.

"Which doesn't matter since we have to work with Lieutenant Welsh and Detective Vecchio," Peter pointed out. "And which leaves us with the option of telling the good man the truth or to talk around the subject. I, for my part, would prefer the talking around. We could end up in a psychiatric ward if we blab about spirits of the dead rising out of their graves that early on the case."

Egon understood the reason behind it, though he didn't seem to like it. He nodded. "Point taken."

"Okay, then let's head back to the hotel. I'm hungry, I'm cold and I hate graveyards." The psychologist shivered. "And it started to rain again!"

That was true. A slight drizzle, combined with gusts of wind, was making the life outside a closed building not very cozy. The three Ghostbusters headed back to their car.

 

* * *

 

"Here you go, Ray. Your latest case." Elaine Besbriss handed the brown folder over to Vecchio.

Ray yawned, not even trying to hide how tired and beat he was. He had been on his feet for hours and the flu was taking its toll, too. Now he had another murder on his hands, one that didn't look too promising.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You don't look so good," the civil aid remarked, giving him the critical eye. "Not that you ever looked good, but today you look worse than ever."

He grimaced. "Thanks, Elaine, that's just what I needed to hear." He took the folder and walked back to his desk.

Ray noted that two more officers were missing, which had either to do with the fact that the night shift had just started or that the flu bug had hit yet again. A quick glance at his watch told him it was way after nine and that he should have gone home a few hours ago. But he could only think of his warm and nice bed; there was still too much work to do. He was only grateful that two cases had solved themselves through lucky coincidences and that he had only 15 more.

Okay, were to start? There was the murder of the cemetery guard, the murder of Zachary Nowak, several burglaries and missing people and various other things he had 'inherited' from sick colleagues. Ray decided that, since he was actually working in Homicide, he should go after the murders first. He opened the folder of Zachary Nowak.

"Zachary Nowak, 31, petty thief, has been in arrest for more time than you can count," he read aloud. "Great." Suddenly he frowned.

"Hello, Ray."

The voice of Benton Fraser startled him. He looked up.

"Hello, Fraser. What are you doing here so late?"

"I could ask you the same question," the Canadian replied mildly. Then he pointed at the folder. "New case?"

"Yes and no. The guy's name is Zachary Nowak. He was murdered by an unknown person or persons. Little crook, except ..... the name of his best friend is Alec Dawson."

"Isn't that the name of the man your contact gave you? The one who is supposedly the grave robber?"

Ray stabbed a finger at the other man. "Precisely. Someone murdered the guy who's probably in league with the man who robbed the grave. It might be connected."

Fraser nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "But why was he murdered?" he then asked.

"Because Dawson didn't want to share. Easy." Vecchio shrugged, then sneezed and searched for his Kleenex. After cleaning his nose he leafed through the folder. "We have the last known address of the guy. Maybe we should pay him a visit."

"And maybe you should go home first and take a nap, Ray," Fraser suggested.

Diefenbaker gave an affirmative grunt. Ray glared at him, but his sharp reply died on his tongue as the logic of what his friend had said sank in. He sighed. "Yeah, all right. Want me to drop you off at your place?"

"Thank you kindly," the Mountie replied.

"You're welcome," Ray replied and both of them left the precinct.

 

* * *

 

When Peter woke in the morning he smelled coffee. There were low voices and the sound of someone hacking onto a keyboard. A door opened and closed and then he could hear water running. The shower, he realized.

He groaned and buried deeper into the bed. He didn't want to know what time it was. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go out into the cold rainy weather and hunt revengeful ghosts and search for magical skulls.

"Good morning, Peter."

Venkman groaned again and pulled the blanket over his head.

"I thought you'd say that," Egon went on and Peter heard as he came closer and put something down on the night table. It smelled deceptively of coffee.

He peered out under the blanket, squinting into the bright morning light. Then his eyes fixed on the cup of coffee.

"Don't tell me it's before nine," he muttered and reached out for the cup.

"It's 7.30 a.m.," Egon informed him nevertheless and Peter thought he could hear a note of mischief in the blond's voice.

"7.30!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "That's in the middle of the night!"

The physicist smiled. "Ray is in the shower. You should get ready, too, since we have a lot to do today."

Peter rolled his eyes. "What is there to do at 7.30 in the morning except sleep?"

"Ray and I found some very interesting facts in 'Tobin's' but it's not enough. Ray wants to go down to the library while you and I will pay the precinct a visit. I want to know if the police found something."

Peter sipped at his coffee, savoring the strong taste. It revived him a bit, though it would take more than some caffeine to convince him to step out of the warm hotel onto the cold streets.

"What did you guys find?" he then inquired. He had fallen asleep somewhere throughout the night while the two scientists had kept on talking about skulls and curses and revengeful ghosts.

"Ernest MacGray was a very powerful man and renowned in the circles of the occult. He and some of his friends and colleagues founded the Circle in 1875, a group of individuals who wanted to research occult power and the mysteries of the Netherworld," Egon began. "They wrote some very interesting books which are still valid today. Somewhere throughout their research they stumbled upon the Merlin's skull, an object of great power. MacGray devoted his whole energy and his life to finding the skull."

"Looks like he succeeded," Peter remarked.

Spengler nodded. "Yes, he succeeded. We don't know how he found it or where. 'Tobin's' is very imprecise to what happened after he found the skull. He died one day of unknown causes and was buried by the other members of the Circle. They buried the skull with him."

"What about the skull?"

"That's the point Ray wants to research. 'Tobin's' knows about the skull, but doesn't describe how it works or what exactly its powers are."

Peter nodded. "Okay, and we two pay Detective Vecchio a friendly visit, right?"

Egon smiled. "Precisely."

The door to the bathroom opened and Ray stepped out. "Good morning, Peter!" he called cheerfully.

Peter sighed. How could anyone be that cheerful in the middle of the night? "Morning, Ray," he muttered around his coffee cup.

Ray started to dress. "I want to be there when the library opens at 8.30," he explained and tugged his shirt in.

"We'll meet for lunch at the place opposite the library," Egon added and watched Peter get up and walk slowly over to the bathroom.

Venkman yawned again. "Okay." Then he closed the door, leaving the two other Ghostbusters to plan whatever they wanted to. He needed a shower.

 

* * *

 

Ray Vecchio couldn't say that he was happy to see Dr. Venkman and Dr. Spengler. Secretly he had hoped that none of those two Ghostbusters would show up today. On top of that he also had to suffer through Fraser's lections about flu and possible cures on the basis of herbs and other natural stuff. The Mountie had his day off as it seemed and of all the things a man could do on his day off in Chicago Fraser had to spend it with Ray to help him solve the case.

Ray had planned to get to work early and pay a visit to Alec Dawson, whose address had miraculously turned up on his desk this morning. A call from one of his contacts, as Elaine had told him after scrutinizing him from head to toe and remarking that he should try one of Fraser's concoctions. He couldn't get worse. Ray was tempted to really try it, but not right now.

Now he had to get rid of those two Ghostbusters first. But that wouldn't be easy, he assumed.

"We heard from your civil aid that one of the two presumed thieves was murdered yesterday," Spengler said.

Ray nodded. "Yeah, pretty gruesome way to die. Somebody ripped out his throat and left him to bleed to death."

Venkman grimaced in disgust. "Any leads to who might have done it?"

Ray shook his head. "Nope. No witnesses, no suspects, no nothing."

The blond frowned while his dark-haired friend kept on looking pretty tired and disgusted. Ray felt with him. He, too, wanted nothing more than to crawl back to bed and forget the whole thing.

"I would like to see the body and maybe visit the scene of the crime," Spengler suddenly said.

"You want to do what?" Ray and Venkman asked nearly simultaneously.

"I want to take readings of the body and in the room he died in," Spengler explained.

"Don't tell me you think a ghost did it?" Ray asked sarcastically.

When the other man didn't answer, it was answer enough for Vecchio. He sighed. "The body is still down in pathology as far as I know. Dr. Pearson is not in right now, but her assistant can help you. About the hotel room .... I have some things to check out. Fraser can show you there." He lifted an eyebrow toward his Canadian friend who had been unusually quiet throughout the whole conversation.

Fraser only nodded. "Of course," he said.

"That's settled then, gentlemen," Ray announced and got up. "I'll go and follow a lead, you go sight seeing in the morgue. Have fun." With that he made a hasty retreat out of the precinct.

 

*

 

Peter looked after the detective and shook his head. "Is he always that likable?" he asked.

Fraser smiled. "Ray is a very good and sensible friend if you get to know him better."

"Looks like I haven't come that far," the psychologist muttered. Aloud he said, "What's bugging him anyway? We're trying to help him solve a case and he thinks we're only here to make his life miserable, or what?."

"Ray can be very touchy where his cases are concerned, Dr. Venkman. And right now, with the flu making rounds in the precinct, he is even more under pressure and stress than usually." The Mountie shrugged. "Don't take it personally."

Something cold and wet touched Peter's hand and he yelped in surprise. As he looked down he discovered the white dog sitting beside him, looking expectantly at him.

"Diefenbaker!" Fraser rebuked his pet.

The dog growled.

"You have to excuse him manners, Dr. Venkman. He's never behaved that bad until we came here to the city."

"What does he want?" Peter wanted to know.

"Sweets or anything resembling fast food," the Mountie said with disgust. "He's come to love it." He turned to look at his pet. "You'll grow all fat."

Diefenbaker grumbled.

"We should proceed with what we have planned," Egon reminded them and looked expectantly at Fraser.

"The morgue is this way," the Canadian said obediently and led them down some stairs.

 

 

The morgue was like any morgue, as far as Peter could tell. It was held in white and everything looked sterile and clean. There were several drawers at one wall, part of them occupied by bodies since they had name tags applied to the front. The three gurneys were empty, much to the two Ghostbusters' relief and it looked like there wasn't much to do for the lonely figure sitting in front of a computer screen on the other side of the room. When they entered, the figure turned.

The man was about forty, with dark hair and Mexican features. He smiled as he recognized Fraser and Fraser smiled in return.

"Hello, Constable," the pathologist greeted him. "What's leading you here?"

"Marty, these are the Drs. Spengler and Venkman. They're helping us with a case."

Marty nodded amiably at them. "Which one?" he then wanted to know.

"Zachary Nowak," Fraser answered. "We would like to see the body."

The pathologist grimaced. "I hope you brought your bags. It's not a pretty side if you haven't seen it before."

Peter already felt a little nauseous. "How bad is 'not a pretty sight'?" he wanted to know.

"Well, part of his throat is missing and so is most of his blood. His ribcage was flattened as if something heavy hat smashed into him." Marty shrugged. "There's worse, but like I said, if you haven't seen it before ...."

"We might not have to look at the body," Egon spoke up. "We only need to take some readings." He got out his P.K.E. meter.

"Readings?"

"It's a science thing," Peter said vaguely and gestured toward the drawers. "Which one?"

Marty shrugged and walked over to a drawer with the name tag 'Zacharias Nowak' and opened it. The body was covered with a grey blanket and the pathologist made no move to uncover it.

Egon stepped closer to the drawer, looking visibly paler than before and activated the P.K.E. meter. He scanned the body for a whole minute, then shut down the device.

"That's all. Thank you."

The pathologist looked puzzled, but shrugged and closed the drawer again. "Anything else?"

Fraser shook his head. "No, thank you, Marty."

"My pleasure."

The Ghostbusters and Fraser left the morgue again. When they were outside Peter inhaled deeply. "I don't know about you guys, but I feel a whole lot better now."

"What were you looking for with your device?" Fraser wanted to know.

"Remains of psychokinetic energy," Egon explained, playing with the meter.

"Ghosts," Peter translated.

"Oh." The Mountie looked awkwardly at them, then evaded Peter's questioning look.

"We should go and take a look around Mr. Nowak's hotel room," Egon announced. "I hope nobody cleaned it or someone else moved in."

"I don't think so," Fraser said, visibly relieved by the change of topic. "Do you have a car? We have to drive there."

"No problem." Peter looked at Diefenbaker. "I hope your dog isn't shedding his coat right now."

"No. And Diefenbaker is a wolf."

Peter's eyes widened. "A wolf?" he croaked. He made a step away from the innocent looking animal. "Like in 'wild and dangerous animal'?"

"Diefenbaker is a wild animal, true, but he is not dangerous, Dr. Venkman, I assure you." Fraser smiled encouragingly. Then he turned to Diefenbaker. "In the car," he ordered.

The wolf whined.

Fraser sighed and repeated slowly and painstakingly, "In -- the -- car."

"What's the matter?" Peter wanted to know.

The Mountie sighed. "He's playing up his handicap again."

"What handicap?"

"He's deaf."

The Ghostbuster stared at the wolf. "You have a wild and deaf wolf? I don't believe it!"

Diefenbaker grumbled something in 'Wolf' and then jumped into the car. The Mountie simply shrugged. "He's really a very friendly animal, Dr. Venkman."

The psychologist didn't look convinced and he wasn't convinced either, but he'd give the wolf a chance.

 

* * *

 

Alec Dawson was a very jumpy and nervous man. He walked up and down in front of the heavy desk and watched as his boss examined the black stone skull. He had intended to be here much earlier, but after he had heard about Zachary he had decided to postpone the delivery a bit.

"Isn't this a nice piece of work," the heavy set man said with a smile. "Beautiful."

"Yeah, yeah, it's pretty. What about the money?"

"Alec, Alec, don't be so nervous. You're walking a ditch into my carpet," the other man admonished.

"Don't be nervous?" Alec nearly yelled. "Somebody killed Zach and I shouldn't be nervous? Hell, I have all the right to be nervous. The police doesn't even have an idea who might have done it. They might be suspecting me!"

"Calm down. Maybe it was a mistake. Anyway, now you don't have to share the payment." The man chuckled unpleasantly.

Alec ran a hand through his blond hair and drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly to calm down. "You said ten grand," he reminded his boss.

"And I keep my promise." The man on the other side of the desk pulled an envelope out of his drawer. He gave the envelope to Alec. "Count it. It's the right amount."

Alec simply pushed the envelope into his pocket. "I'm out of here," he muttered.

The other man chuckled again. "Don't be so childish, Alec. It was a mistake that Zach was killed. It's a shame since he was a good man. Always delivered what I wanted." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you believe in ghosts and curses."

Dawson gulped nervously. "There isn't a curse on the skull, is there?"

The man laughed. "Of course not."

The thief walked toward the door. "I think I'll leave the city for some time," he muttered. I don't want to be the victim of a mistake, too."

"Do what you wish. You have enough money to afford a trip." That was the last thing Alec heard before he closed the door. He walked quickly down the corridor, wishing he'd never have listened to Zachary when he had proposed the partnership in this job to him. It had been a bad and stupid idea. Very bad and very stupid.

The thin blond man left the large building and turned left to walk down the street. It had begun to rain again and he hunched his shoulders to keep the cold out. It really wasn't such a bad idea to leave the city. At least he would get of the rainy weather.

 

* * *

 

The hotel room had been closed off with a yellow police band, which Fraser carefully removed. The owner of the run-down hotel had only shrugged when Fraser had asked politely if they could see the room.

Peter grimaced as he looked around the cheaply furnished room.

"Nice wallpaper," he remarked dryly.

Egon walked over to the spot where Nowak had died, which had been marked off by white tape. Even without the tape it would have been clear where the man had been murdered. A lot of blood had been spilled and had dried into the carpet. The rust-colored stain could be clearly seen. The physicist pulled out the P.K.E. meter and made a scan.

Peter came over to where Egon and Fraser stood. He glanced at the read-out screen of the meter and noted the readings.

"That's it?" he asked.

Egon nodded. "The same readings as in the grave and on the body of Zacharias Nowak. The class-4 was here."

"And you think it killed the guy?"

The blond shrugged. "I don't know, Peter. Most ghosts are not that dangerous. They can scare you or they can hurt you, but mostly they don't try to kill you. If this ghost is really trying to get back the skull, it might not try to scare people away from its goal."

"It kills them right away," Peter concluded. "Nice."

"But the skull was not here," Fraser now said, frowning a bit. "The police searched the room and found no trace of anything valuable or anything out of a burglary."

"Maybe his partner took it and ran," Peter theorized. "He saw the ghost attacking his friend and beat a hasty retreat."

The Canadian considered this, then shook his head. "If you are correct with your assumption that a ghost killed this man, then why should it let the other man run free? If Nowak's partner had had the skull, why didn't the ghost follow and kill him, too?"

"Good question." Peter frowned. "And if the skull wasn't here when Nowak was killed, where is it? Nowak's partner must be the one who has it. And now he's in great danger to be killed by the ghost."

"Ray is trying to find Alec Dawson, Nowak's partner. He believes that he hasn't sold the skull yet, but will do so soon." Fraser looked around the apartment.

"We have to find him," Egon insisted. "The ghost will kill him if we don't."

"And what if we find the skull?" Peter asked. "Then the ghost will kill us!"

Egon only raised both eyebrows. Venkman sighed.

"I have enough data about the class-4 to modify the P.K.E. meter to pick up the ghost," the physicist said. "It will not react to any other ghost in this city."

"And there are quite some, I guess," Peter quipped, but his eyes looked intently at Fraser.

The Mountie had the good manner to look embarrassed. "Maybe we should go back to the precinct and see what Ray found," he said.

Peter glanced at his watch. "We have a lunch date with our friend Ray Stantz. He's haunting the library. Wanna come along?"

Fraser shrugged. Together they left the hotel and walked to their car.

"Tell me, Constable Fraser," Peter said conversationally as they got into the rental car. "Have you ever seen a ghost?"

"Ah ....." Fraser stuttered. "In what way?"

Peter raised both eyebrows. "Well, like in the way of a full body apparition or a screaming nebula with claws and glowing eyes ....."

"I ... don't think so," the Mountie evaded a direct answer.

"You said you believe in paranormal experiences," the psychologist went on, putting the car into gear and driving toward the library. "Why?"

"It has been scientifically proven -- by you, for instance. Even up in the Yukon we heard about what happened in New York."

Again no real answer to Peter's question. He left the subject as it was, intent to pick it up again later, and turned to Egon.

"How do you want to handle the class-4? We don't have the proton packs and traps."

"I was planning to get it to dissolve peacefully," the blond answered.

Peter goggled at him. "You want what? That ghost killed someone already! It's murderous!"

"Yes, but it's also only searching for something that has been his once," Egon pointed out. "And as you just said: we don't have any of our equipment. The only other possibility we have is to call Janine and let her send us the packs by express."

"I'd feel much safer then," Venkman muttered. He pulled the car to the curb right in front of the library. "Hey, Ray's already out!"

Ray was really standing in front of the large building, holding several copies in his hands.

"What'd you do, kid?" Venkman asked teasingly. "Talk out aloud while reading or why did they throw you out?"

Ray grimaced. "They didn't throw me out, Peter. I just found everything I needed and made copies." He turned to Egon. "They have some pretty good reference books here," he told his older friend. "I have a nearly complete history of the skull!"

"Let's get something to eat and then you can tell us all about it." Peter ushered the three other men -- and the wolf -- to the small restaurant on the other side of the street. "I'm hungry."

As if to make his own point that he was hungry too, Diefenbaker whined.

"I hope they don't sell fast food," was all Fraser said and then followed the three Ghostbusters, Diefenbaker close on his heels.

 

* * *

 

A loud sneeze, followed by a muffled curse and the sound like an elephant cleaning his nose told the four men entering the precinct where exactly Ray Vecchio was. Fraser walked straight into the dayroom, which was completely empty except for Ray, who battled with the coffee machine. A viscous punch rocked the machine and a Styrofoam cup fell out. Ray smiled in satisfaction and watched as it filled.

"Ray?"

Vecchio turned and his smile lost several degrees as he discovered the Ghostbusters.

"What's up, Fraser?" he asked and took out the filled cup.

"We found some interesting facts. Apparently the person or persons who robbed the grave are also somehow connected with the murder of Zacharias Nowak." Fraser raised an eyebrow.

Ray sipped the warm liquid and grimaced at the bitter taste. "How do you come to that conclusion?" he asked. "We don't even know if Nowak was really in league with Dawson, who's the prime suspect here. He's a good friend of him, not more. Oh, yeah, he's dead, too."

"We have several reasons to believe that Nowak was working with Dawson and was killed because he stole the skull," Egon Spengler now said.

Ray turned his attention to the blond man. "Which reasons?"

"I took readings of the body in the morgue and of the place where he was murdered," Egon explained. "I also scanned the grave and found that the readings are identical. Whatever killed Nowak, it came from the grave."

"Came -- from -- the -- grave," Ray repeated slowly, setting down the cup and regarding Egon from under lowered brows. "Are we talking ghosts here?"

"A class-4 apparition, Detective," Ray Stantz now said. "It must be the ghost of Ernest MacGray trying to get back the skull, which was stolen from him."

Vecchio groaned. "I don't believe it! That's the weirdest explanation for a murder case I ever heard! Fraser, tell me it's a joke!" He turned pleading eyes to his friend.

But the Mountie shook his head. "After all I heard and saw I believe that the Ghostbusters are correct, Ray."

Ray groaned again and buried his head in his hands. "I feel sick," he mumbled.

"That could be the flu," Fraser pointed out helpfully.

Vecchio glared at him. "It's definitely not the flu. It's the crap you're trying to sell me! Ghosts murdering people? You're giving me a headache! If I even blab a word of that to Welsh he's gonna kick me out of the force straight into the psychiatric ward."

"Even if you don't believe in ghosts, Detective," Peter said, "you might believe in someone trying to kill the thieves. Nowak is already dead and we have reason to believe that Dawson won't live much longer unless we find him -- and the skull."

"The skull is a very important magical object, Detective Vecchio," Ray said seriously. "A lot of cults would kill for its possession, and there are also private collectors who pay every price to own it."

Vecchio rubbed his aching head. "Okay, okay. Let's talk straight here. We have a guy on the loose, who is out to kill everyone who's in his way, because he wants the skull, right?"

The Ghostbusters nodded.

"And you think he'll go after Dawson next?"

Another nod.

"Did you find Dawson's hideout?" Fraser now asked.

"No. I went everywhere," Ray said tiredly. "He's gone like he was swallowed by the earth itself. No one heard from him in the last days and the few who talked to him said he was planning something. They also saw him with Nowak a lot."

"And Nowak is dead now," the dark-haired Ghostbuster reminded him.

"I get the point, Dr. Venkman, thank you," Ray grumbled.

"We might not have a way to find Dawson," Egon now said, "but we might have a way to find the killer." He pointedly left the word 'ghost' out. "I modified the P.K.E. meter to pick up only the killers frequency. All we have to do is scan the city, preferably close to where Dawson might hide out undetected."

"Which leaves out the wealthier parts of the city," Fraser put in.

Ray looked at the small device and frowned. "What's that? A ghost detector?" he asked sarcastically.

"Exactly."

It evicted another groan from the police officer. "I want another case!" he moaned.

"Ray, right now it's our only chance."

Vecchio glared at Fraser, but then nodded. "Okay. We'll try it. I don't have any other suggestions anyway." He pushed back the chair and got up, stretching a bit. "We don't all fit in one car," he said.

"No problem," Stantz announced. "I was planning to go and visit a friend of mine. Maybe he heard something about the skull. He was the first one to tell us about the theft and he might know more now."

The detective nodded.

"I'll accompany you, Dr. Stantz, if you don't mind," Fraser announced, which brought him a surprised look from Vecchio.

"No, I don't mind, Constable." Ray smiled. "We can take our car."

Both of them left the dayroom. Ray Vecchio straightened. "Okay, gentlemen, let's get going, too." He looked warily at the P.K.E. meter again and then led the two Ghostbusters down to his car.

 _The day can't get worse, can it?_ he thought. Now he was hunting killer ghosts together with two studied freaks! The things you'd do to catch a thief and murderer!

 

* * *

 

 Tom O'Hare greeted Ray and Fraser with a broad smile. Diefenbaker whined and got a friendly pat from the Scot.

"Nice of you to drop by, Ray," he said and ushered them inside. The wolf followed and immediately began with a closer investigation of the interesting smelling shop -- much to Fraser's embarrassment, who excused for his wolf's bad manners.

"Don't worry," Tom said cheerfully. "I don't think he'll break something."

"Tom, this is Constable Fraser from the Canadian Mounted Police Force," Stantz introduced his companion.

Tom shook the Mountie's hand. "I heard about a Mountie in Chicago, working with the police," he said, eyeing Fraser. "That's you?"

The Canadian was a bit surprised. "You heard about me?"

"Yeah, sure, lad. Everybody in the occult community knows about you." Tom grinned cheerfully.

"Uh, may I ask why, Mr. O'Hare?" Fraser asked politely, though puzzled.

"You have to ask after what happened last Christmas?" The book shop owner chuckled. "Every medium in the community felt it. You've quite an extraordinary aura, Constable."

"I have to admit that now you have lost me completely," Fraser confessed.

"What aura are you talking about, Tom?" Ray wanted to know.

"You heard from Michael Burton, right? The cop from LA?"

Ray nodded. "Yes, he's a counter-medium. Ghosts contact him for help, not the other way around."

Tom smiled and gestured toward Fraser. "Your Canadian friend here is a counter-medium, too, though he's fixed on only one ghost."

Fraser paled a bit as if this was a shock to him. "I'm not a medium," he protested.

"Lad, you're every bit a medium as Sophie is. She met your Dad, too, and he visits her very often, I've to add."

"My father is doing what?" Fraser croaked in disbelief, then caught himself as he realized he had just fallen into the trap.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Constable," O'Hare tried to calm the other man. "You have an ability not all people have. You can see the ghosts of dead people. Count yourself lucky that it's only one ghost coming to visit you, not like poor Michael."

"See if you say that after you've met him," Fraser muttered.

"So that's why you didn't call our business humbug," Ray said. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because it's nothing to be proud of in my profession, Dr. Stantz. What would happen if I walked around and declared I can see the ghost of my dead father?" the Mountie asked reasonably.

"Point taken," the occultist answered. "But I think we should talk about this before we leave -- if you want."

Fraser only nodded, not answering. Ray turned to Tom.

"The reason why we've come is to ask if you heard anything about the skull. Has anybody in the community heard anything about a possible buyer or a new cult forming around it?"

Tom scratched his chin. "Elena said she heard that some wealthy banker is behind it all. She said he is fixed on occult stuff and collect everything he can get his hands on. She went to him once after he called her to get his fortune told."

"And?" Ray prodded.

Tom shrugged. "She said she saw a darkness in his future and he kicked her out for prophesying something he didn't want to hear."

"Did she see something connected with the skull?"

"No. She only heard from him that he was collecting everything powerful and occult. He's paying graciously for it."

"If everything Dr. Spengler said is correct," Fraser spoke up, "then this man's future is really very dark."

"Egon thinks that MacGray's ghost is after the thieves," Ray explained at Tom's questioning look. "One of the two guys hired to rob the grave is already dead and we found traces of a class-4 at the scene of the crime and on the body. The skull was gone and we think the second man has it. Egon also believes that the ghost will kill everyone involved in the robbery and won't rest until he gets back the skull."

Tom nodded seriously. "That is very likely. There is a reason why MacGray wanted to be buried with the skull, because it's an object of incredible power. The man behind the robbery might not even realize what he has bought, simply wants to keep it as his private property, but if MacGray is after him it will be a very short possession."

"Peter, Egon and Detective Vecchio are already out looking for any trace of the class-4. Could you tell us who this man, this banker, is?"

"Harry Randolph. Pretty well known guy and board-member of one of the largest bank buildings in this city, the First Metropolitan Exchange Bank."

Fraser nodded. "I know where the building is."

"You can't really miss it," Tom said. "The guy invested 1 ½ million dollars in the glass front because he wanted the windows to look like they are made out of gold."

"We should pay the man a visit," Ray informed Fraser. "He has to know of the danger he is in."

Tom frowned doubtfully. "I don't think you can talk reasonably to the guy, Ray."

"If we can't convince him, maybe the ghost of Ernest MacGray can," the occultist answered. He turned to Fraser. "I drive and you'll point me the way, okay?"

The Canadian nodded.

They said good-bye to Tom O'Hare and got into the car again.

 

* * *

 

The green Buick Riviera rolled slowly down a side alley and Ray watched as Egon Spengler studied his small device. The physicist was completely absorbed in his task and seemed to be gone from this plain of reality. Peter Venkman sat in the back of the car and looked out of the window.

Suddenly the two-way radio crackled and Elaine's voice could be heard, calling Vecchio.

"What's up, Elaine?" the detective asked.

"Some guy, Vinnie something, called in, Ray. He said to tell you that he has seen Dawson," the civil aid said.

Ray listened up. "Where?"

"Vinnie said he saw your friend leave the First Metropolitan Exchange Bank building about twenty minutes ago."

"Thanks, Elaine." Ray put the mike down and hit the accelerator. "Hold on, guys, we gotta get us a thief." He skidded the car around the corner and thundered down the street.

"What's this Dawson guy doing in the Bank District?" Venkman asked from behind him.

"I don't know and I don't care. I only care about getting the rat and arrest him. Then you can ask him why he was in the bank," Vecchio answered grimly.

A little beeping sound alerted the detective to Spengler's strange device. "What's happening?" he wanted to know, evading two taxies.

"It's picking up the class-4." Spengler looked up. "Where are we?"

"Five minutes away from the Bank District. Why?"

"The class-4 is ahead of us and if I'm not completely wrong it's moving along the same route we are taking."

Venkman leaned forward. "Say what?"

"MacGray has found Dawson."

 

* * *

 

The First Metropolitan Exchange Bank couldn't really be missed. The large skyscraper with the golden glass front was impressive even when the weather was as grey and rainy as today. Ray gave a low whistle as he looked up the building.

"Well, that's something you don't see all day," he admitted.

Benton Fraser smiled. "Yes, it's quite outstanding." He closed the door and looked back at his white wolf, who sat forlorn on the back seat of the rented car. "Stay," he ordered, pronouncing that word with utter care and elaboration.

Diefenbaker whined and growled in protest, but then lay down on the seat.

Both men walked into the bank building, looking in awe at the expensive foyer hall. There was glass, marble and steel everywhere, tastefully arranged. Light poured in through the windows and the artificial light of the large lamps increased the effect. Ray gaped at it all. This was really incredible.

He went to the elevators and looked at the guide sign. When he didn't find any hint to where Harry Randolph might have his office he walked to the reception desk. Four people occupied the long desk, which had a slight U-turn. Monitors cluttered the desk and three of the four were guards. The forth was a young woman in a business dress. She smiled at Ray and Fraser.

"How can I help you?" she asked politely.

"We would like to talk to Mr. Randolph," Ray said.

"Do you have an appointment?" she wanted to know.

Ray shook his head.

"Then I'm sorry. Mr. Randolph only receives visitors with an appointment." Another polite smile told Ray that the conversation was over.

"Excuse me, Ms Juliet," Fraser suddenly said, very politely, too.

"How do you know my name?" the brunette asked in surprise.

The Mountie pointed at the small name tag. "Your tag says 'K. Juliet'," he explained.

"She blushed a bit. "Oh. How silly of me to ask. And you are?"

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

Her eyes widened in awe as he said that and Ray had to surpress a giggle. The effect this man had on women was incredible. He had noted how Elaine Besbriss had softened every time he came near her.

"And I would like to speak with Mr. Randolph, if that is possible, Ms. Juliet," Fraser went on.

"I'm really sorry," the woman said. "But Mr. Randolph never has any visitors without an appointment."

"Maybe if you call him and tell him we are here, he might reconsider." Fraser smiled. "Tell him we would like to talk with him about a artifact he has acquired."

Ms. Juliet looked doubtful, but picked up the phone and dialed a number. Seconds later she had a connection.

"Mr. Randolph, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there are two gentlemen here who would like to talk to you. One is an officer from the RCMP, the other one is Mr. Ray Stantz --"

She looked up and Ray mouthed 'Ghostbusters'.

"-- from the Ghostbusters," she finished the sentence, now looking at Ray in awe. She obviously had heard from them. " .... yes, I told them that, Mr. Randolph, but they asked me to relay a message to you. They said they would like to talk with you about an artifact you acquired lately."

She looked up and addressed Ray and Fraser, "What artifact?"

"The Merlin's skull," Ray answered.

She relayed the message and listened, then nodded and hung up. "Mr. Randolph wants to talk to you, Dr. Stantz, Constable Fraser."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser thanked her and nodded.

"Top floor," she told them. "You can't miss it. There is only this one office on the top floor." She gave Fraser a beautiful smile.

The Canadian nodded again and then both of them walked over to the elevators.

 

 

They really couldn't miss the office and like the whole building it was a representation of Randolph's wealth. Soft carpet covered the floor and the whole office was filled with precious furniture and antiques. A display case showed several old weapons and on one wall hung a large picture. The windows revealed a breath taking view over the city, which now lay under a blanket of clouds.

Harry Randolph was a lithe man in his fifties, with full grey hair and a sun tanned skin. He smiled in welcome at the two men and gestured for them to sit down in the expensive chairs standing in front of his large mahogany desk.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them. "What can I do for you?"

"As we told your receptionist we've come because of the Merlin's skull," Ray said without preamble.

"Ah, yes, the fabled Merlin's skull. I have heard about it." Randolph leaned back in his executive chair. "What about it?"

"We heard you were looking for it," Fraser said.

"Yes, I am looking for it, but as it seems it's really only a legend."

"No, it isn't," Ray objected. "And you know it."

"Dr. Stantz, I have heard about you and your colleagues. You have a name in the field of the occult," Randolph addressed Ray. "If a man like you says the skull exists, then it exists."

"And you own it."

The banker laughed. "I wish I would. It would be a dream come true."

"More of a nightmare soon to come," Fraser remarked.

"Come again, Constable?"

"Two nights ago a grave was opened at the Chicago cemetery. Something was stolen and we believe it is the Merlin's skull," Stantz told him. "Yesterday the body of one of the thieves was found, his throat ripped out. My colleagues and I were at the grave, at the scene of the crime and we looked at the body. We found traces of psychokinetic energy everywhere. Always the same energy."

"The next thing you tell me, Dr. Stantz, is that the ghost of the Ernest MacGray has risen from his grave," Randolph joked.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you, Mr. Randolph," Ray said seriously. "The skull was stolen from the grave and now the ghost is after the thieves and everyone who has it."

"What does that have to do with me? I don't have it." The business man reached for a glass of water standing on his table and took a few sips.

Fraser smiled politely. "We only wanted to inform you of the danger, Mr. Randolph, since we heard you are looking for the skull."

Harry Randolph smiled, too, setting down the glass of water. "Thank you, Constable. I'll keep the warning in mind. And now, if you'd excuse me," he got up, "I have an important meeting."

"Of course."

The two men got up, too.

"It was very nice of you to pay me a visit, gentlemen," Randolph said as he ushered them out, though he did it very politely.

When the door of the elevator had closed after them, Fraser and Ray exchanged a look.

"He is lying," Ray then remarked.

The Mountie nodded. "Precisely. And he also talked about MacGray's ghost, though we never mentioned the name of the body in the grave."

Ray looked doubtful. "He could have read that in the paper."

"Only if he read the small articles in the back. The violation of the grave didn't make the headline, neither did the murder of the guard. A city like Chicago has other, more important things happening every day." Fraser shook his head. "Even if he did read the article, he lied about the skull. His voice changed when he denied possession of the skull, and his mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips and drank some water."

"You have a good observation, Constable."

Fraser smiled. "Observation is very important in my job."

The elevator arrived on the ground floor and they left the First Metropolitan Exchange Bank.

"What now?" the Ghostbuster wanted to know.

"We should meet Ray and your friends at the precinct," Fraser said. "Maybe they found Dawson."

 

* * *

 

Under Egon's directions Ray Vecchio steered the Buick through the streets of the Bank District. They passed the building of the First Metropolitan Exchange Bank and followed the street down to where it turned left or right.

"Left," Egon said briskly. "We're closing in."

"I hope this doesn't turn out to be an elaborate hoax," Ray muttered. "If it does, I'm gonna be mightily annoyed."

"It's not a hoax," Spengler said. "Stop!" he then yelled and Ray hit the brakes. The Buick stopped with screeching tires and honking cars behind it. "The signal moved to the left."

"We passed an alley," Peter said from the back seats.

Ray threw the car into a U-turn, not minding the cursing and screaming drivers and honking cars, then drove into the alleyway.

"It's a dead end," he said, noting the street sign at the beginning of the narrow street. He stopped the car. "We should continue on foot."

They got out. Venkman looked nervously around. "Egon, remember the little fact with our missing packs?" he asked his blond friend.

"I haven't forgotten," the other Ghostbuster answered, his eyes fixed on the screen. "That way," he then said and pointed down the alley to where Ray could see a fence in the distance.

Suddenly there was a high-pitched scream. The scream galvanized the police officer into action. He drew his gun and gestured for the two civilians to keep back. Then he moved carefully down the street.

 

 

Peter looked at Egon and the blond physicist nodded. They couldn't leave Vecchio alone to meet the ghost. Carefully, both of them followed in a respectful distance, ready to do whatever possible to keep the ghost from harming the detective.

Another scream made Peter flinch.

"We have to do something!" he whispered intently and looked around. But what kind of weapon was there against a ghost, except for ionized protons -- which they didn't have?

 

 

Ray Vecchio arrived at the scene first and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of the fence lay Alec Dawson, eyes wide with fear, skin pale and sweaty. There was a bloody scratch on his throat. Over him stood .... something. Ray couldn't find any words to give the thing a name -- except for 'ghost', because that had to be what that transparent thing was that hovered there. It was not only transparent, but also missing the lower part of its body and glowing slightly bluish. Ray pulled himself out of his trance and did the only thing he could really think of.

"Police! Stop where you are, pal, and hands up!"

It was a dumb maneuver, he knew, but this went beyond what he had experienced in his nine years with the force. The ghost turned and now Ray saw some human features, though they were not clearly defined and the only, really visible, thing were the bright yellow eyes and the large mouth. The thing hissed warningly and Ray wanted nothing more than to bolt and run. But stubbornness and a sense of duty, his duty as a police officer to protect, kept him rooted to the spot.

The ghost hissed even louder and before Ray knew anything else the thing moved in on him. He yelled in protest and dove for cover, firing at the apparition. As expected, the bullets didn't hurt it. Before he could do anything else he felt someone grabbing him and then he was thrown down the street, as if he weighed nothing at all. He hit a pair of garbage cans and then the wall of a building. All the air was driven out of his lungs. Gasping for breath he discovered the ghostly thing hovering above him, roaring.

And then a screeching sound filled the air. It was painfully high and was climbing higher and higher. Ray pressed his hands against his ears, trying to shut out the sound, but it was everywhere. And then it was gone -- and with the sound the ghost had disappeared.

Groggy and weak, Vecchio tried to get to his feet. Someone took his arm and helped him up. He discovered that it was Peter Venkman.

"What happened?" he wanted to know.

"Later," the Ghostbuster said. "We have to get out of here before Ernie decides to come back for a second taking." He pulled Ray with him to where Egon Spengler was helping Alec Dawson to his feet.

The thief was pale as the proverbial ghost and shaking like a leaf. Spengler pushed him down the alley and Dawson didn't even protest.

"Can you drive?" Peter asked.

Vecchio nodded automatically and slid into the driver's seat. When Spengler had closed the door he left the alley, instinctively driving back to the precinct.

 

*

 

Ray Vecchio watched as Alec Dawson was taken into custody. The thief was pretty shaken and had not spoken a single word. Ray had all intention to make him talk later. Right now he had to calm his own, frazzled nerves. _A ghost_ , he told himself. A ghost! He couldn't put another word to the apparition in the alley. He had tried to rationalize what had happened. Maybe he had been hallucinating, but then -- hallucinations didn't attack and physically hurt you. The next thought had been that of a projection. But again -- projections didn't throw you down an alley like you were only a doll. The last possibility, that sounded halfway rational, had been that he had seen another man, a human being, and had only thought he saw a ghost, because of Venkman's and Spengler's constant talk about ghosts. Overactive imagination. But even this last rational explanation had been dismissed. He hadn't been imagining things. There really hadn't been a lower half of that thing. It had been transparent. Its eyes had glowed. And it had been gone seconds after attacking him. No human being could have moved that fast.

It had been a ghost.

"Detective?"

The voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up, nearly spilling his coffee. It was Peter Venkman, the Ghostbuster. He didn't know where the other two Ghostbusters were and right now he didn't care. Fraser had taken it to himself to talk with Spengler and Stantz, and Ray was somehow grateful for it. After arriving at the precinct with the prisoner and meeting Fraser and Stantz, he had only wanted to sit down and get his act together again.

"Dr. Venkman," he acknowledged the other man's presence.

Venkman sat down opposite him and smiled. "How are you doing?" he wanted to know.

"Fine."

"It was your first encounter with a ghost, right?"

 _My first encounter? No, not really, but I don't count seeing my dead father as a real meeting with a ghost!_

"Yes," he answered.

"It can be pretty scary," Venkman went on.

"I'm all right," Ray muttered, but he knew the other man was unconvinced and so was he.

"The first time the guys and I saw a ghost we ran screaming out of a library. Wasn't much better the second time, but we were working on it." Venkman smiled. "Wouldn't have done if the media picked up on that. 'Ghostbusters afraid of ghosts'. What a headline. We wouldn't have had an inch of a chance to start our business."

Ray kept his silence. Right now he was too tired and to unnerved to do anything but sit and drink his coffee.

"It's no personal shame to be afraid of ghosts," the dark-haired man then said softly. "People are always afraid of new, unexplained things."

Ray's eyes lit with a stubborn light. "I wasn't afraid, merely surprised!" he said sharply.

Venkman nodded as if he had expected that. "So you were pretty much surprised -- and pretty much banged up."

"I've been through worse," Vecchio said dismissively.

"I can imagine. But let me give you an advise: don't eat this experience up inside of you. Talk about it. Let us help you. We're experts in this field and we handle a lot of that stuff day by day. Hell, the time I saw my first, real life demon I wanted nothing more than run and never stop running again." The Ghostbuster was silent for a second, then continued, "We might meet the ghost again, Detective. You might see that ghost again. Even if you aren't afraid, remember one thing: you can't hurt it with a bullet."

Ray nodded. "I saw that." Then he frowned. "Say, how did you get that ghost to disappear. I thought you said you had no weapons along to destroy it."

Peter Venkman grinned. "Natural genius," he quipped. "You are right, we have nothing to trap it, but Egon came up with a quick idea to scare it away with sound waves. Some ghosts don't like specific sounds because it disrupts the ectoplasmic cohesion."

"Say what?"

"They start to break apart."

"Oh." Ray pondered that answer. "Can we stop that guy with that sound wave stuff?"

"We can keep him away from us, but I don't think we can stop him," Venkman confessed. "We'd need a proton pack or a trap to do that. Or we might get him to dissolve peacefully."

Ray looked critically at the other man. "Peacefully? Buddy, this thing killed one man and tried to kill another, not to speak of the fact that it attacked a police officer. How do you want to get it to peacefully dissolve?"

There was a lot of sarcasm in Ray's voice, but Venkman was unperturbed by it. He simply grinned winningly. "That's what the guys keep me around for," he joked.

Ray looked doubtfully at him. "And what are you? Cannon-fodder?"

Venkman gave him a pain-filled look of betrayal. "Cannon-fodder? Pleaze, Detective! I'm a man with two Ph.D.'s!"

Ray nearly laughed out aloud. "As what? Dr. Bigmouth?"

"Close to the truth but not exactly," a bass voice said with amusement.

"Egon, big guy," Venkman said cheerfully. "How are you science guys doing out there?"

"We have to talk with Mr. Dawson," Spengler said. "And if Ray's suspicion is correct, Mr. Harold Randolph is in great danger."

Vecchio pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. "Then let's see what Mr. Dawson has to say."

 

*

 

The room behind the large mirror next to the interrogation room was filled with people, three of them Ghostbusters and one a Mountie. Ray Vecchio and the prisoner, Alec Dawson, were in the interrogation room itself. A small loudspeaker relayed their words to the watchers. The prisoner couldn't see or hear them, since for him there was only a large one-way mirror.

Ray was pacing up and down in front of Dawson, partly working off his nervous energy from the close encounter with the ghost.

"Mr. Dawson," Ray said and stopped in front of the man sitting on one of the three chairs, "we know you and your partner Zachary Nowak violated the grave and stole the skull."

Dawson looked defiantly at Ray. He was still as pale as chalk, but he wasn't ready to talk. "I don't know whatcha talkin' about, pal. I want to talk to my lawyer!"

"Your lawyer was held up in a traffic jam, buddy," Ray said and leaned forward. "Why don't you make it easy on you and confess. I mean, if you get set free by your lawyer, you might end up just like little Zachy Nowak."

Dawson paled even further, if that was at all possible. "If you think I killed him ..."

"No, we don't think you killed him. You know who did it, don't you? You nearly met the same fate by the same guy in the alley today." Ray placed both hands on the table and leaned further toward the unlucky thief. "The next time you won't be that lucky, Dawson. The next time you can visit your friend Nowak -- in hell."

The thief started to shake again as he remembered his encounter with the ghost.

"You made someone very unhappy when you stole the skull, my friend," Ray went on, visibly pleased with the effect his words had on Dawson. "Now, you can either help us find the guy who's after you, or you can go out and try to run from him. But believe me when I tell you: he can find you everywhere."

"What do you want from me?" Dawson asked, his voice shaking nearly as badly as his body.

"Who did you sell the skull to?"

The thief bit his lip. Finally, after a few minutes, he whispered: "Harold Randolph. He was the one who wanted the thing and he paid big for it."

"How much?"

"Ten."

Ray's eye widened. "Ten thousand?" he whistled appreciatively. "That's a lot of money for just a little piece of carved stone."

The door opened and a man in a business suit stepped in. He frowned at Vecchio, then at the prisoner. "Gary Henderson, lawyer," he introduced himself. "Are you talking to my client?"

"Ray Vecchio," Ray said in the same tone as Henderson had introduced himself, "Detective. No, I'm not talking to your client." With that he exited from the interrogation room, leaving a terrified Dawson and a flustered lawyer behind.

Ray went straight into the adjoining room, where he met the three Ghostbusters and Fraser. "Okay, guys," he addressed them. "What now?"

Egon Spengler frowned thoughtfully. "As you said, whoever has anything to do with the theft of the skull is in very real danger, Detective Vecchio. Which means, Mr. Randolph's life is threatened by the class-4. We have to get the skull from him and return it to the grave."

"Oh, is that all?" Ray asked sarcastically. "You want me to waltz into Randolph's office and demand the skull from him? I need a warrant for that and I'm not likely to get it from any judge unless Dawson signs a statement. And now that his lawyer is here," he gestured toward where they all could see Henderson talking to his client, "we are not likely to get him to sign anything, least of all a confession."

"We should pay Mr. Randolph another visit," Spengler decided. "And warn him."

"We already did, Egon," Ray Stantz put in. "I don't think it had any effect."

"Then at least we should scan the immediate area of his home and the office building," Spengler decided. "We don't know where he keeps the skull, but the ghost will appear on one of the two locations."

"Then what?" Venkman asked. "We don't have the packs, or did you forget that?"

"No, I still haven't forgotten, Peter." The blond man looked seriously at his friend. "I modified the second P.K.E. meter I brought along that it puts out the same high frequency waves like the other one did in the alley. It will keep the ghost away, but it can't trap him. I still hope we can give it back the skull and talk it into dissolving peacefully."

Venkman sighed deeply. "So we gonna split up? I don't like it."

"Neither do I, but we have to. Can you find out the address of Mr. Harold Randolph, Detective?" he then asked Vecchio.

"No problem. We just set Elaine to work on it."

Spengler nodded in satisfaction. "Now to the teams. Since neither Constable Fraser, nor Detective Vecchio have any experience in working the P.K.E. meters, both should be accompanied by one of us."

Peter grinned at Vecchio, who rolled his eyes. Egon noted the mimics and smiled hiddenly.

"I think it would be best if Constable Fraser accompanied Ray and me, while Detective Vecchio and Peter work together," he said.

"Good decision," Venkman said with amusement. "At least this way you two science guys have someone to keep an eye on you."

Diefenbaker, who had sat silently at Fraser's feet the whole time, growled.

"And a wolf, of course," Peter added.

"Since Ray and the Constable have been to the First Metropolitan Exchange Bank once, I think we should pay the bank another visit," the blond physicist went on.

"Which leaves us with the home address of Mr. Randolph," Peter concluded. "Okay, let's find Elaine," he addressed Vecchio, "and get the guy's address."

"Be careful," Egon added and looked at Peter.

"You too, big guy." Venkman turned to Fraser. "Keep a close eye on them. They tend to forget the Real World from time to time."

The Canadian smiled. "I will."

 

* * *

 

"That's a sight for sore eyes," Peter said and looked at the large house in awe.

Ray Vecchio simply snorted. "I don't wanna know how much illegal money went into this," he muttered.

The house was large with an even larger garden around it. A high, iron fence kept it shut off from the people on the street, though Peter didn't think there were many passers-by. This area of Chicago was far outside the city itself and the only houses were those of other rich people. And the houses were set far apart by the garden and wood areas all around them.

"Malibu Beach in Chicago," Venkman quipped as they stopped in front of the open gate. A broad driveway lead up the mansion-like home of Randolph. "How do you wanna get in?" he then asked the detective.

"Who said anything about getting in? I thought you were supposed to scan the area for that ghost, or whatever you do with that gizmo."

Venkman nodded. "Right. It's just, what can we do if we pick up the ghost in the building? Drive through the front door?"

"Not with my car!" Ray said vehemently. "We'll just knock politely, I'll show them my badge and we get in."

"Uh-huh. I don't think they just let us in if we ask politely, but if you say it works....." The Ghostbuster shrugged and activated the device. "Maybe we should drive around a bit to get a better impression, what do you think?"

"Good idea."

Peter Venkman grinned. "I only have good ideas!"

The detective snorted in disbelief and drove down the street, then to the left to circle the house. Peter leaned back and watched the meter.

 

* * *

 

Fraser, Egon and Ray arrived at the large bank building shortly after closing hours. The tower itself was still open, though working hours were over and no visitors were in the building. To Fraser surprise Ms Juliet was still on duty. She smiled warmly at him.

"Constable Fraser," the brunette greeted him. "Back so soon?"

He nodded. "We would like to talk to Mr. Randolph again. We still have no appointment," he added with a smile.

"I'll call him and see if he's still in." She dialed. "Mr. Randolph said he wanted to leave early today, which means either before midnight or punctually at closing hours." She listened to the dial tone and then hung up. "It looks like he has left the building. I'm sorry, Constable."

"Thank you for trying, Ms Juliet."

"Call me Katy." She smiled.

"Could we take one of the elevators up and down again, Ms Juliet?" Egon asked. "We would like to scan the building."

"Scan the building?" The receptionist's eyes widened. "Is something wrong? You're from the Ghostbusters, too, aren't you?"

Egon nodded.

"It's just routine," Ray told her with a smile.

She hesitated, then looked at Fraser, who radiated an aura of trustworthiness.

"Okay," she finally said. "Take elevator number ten."

"Thank you kindly," the Mountie said and the three men walked over to the elevator.

When they were on their way to the top floor Egon activated the P.K.E. meter and watched the read-out screen. There wasn't a single blip.

"Anything?" Ray wanted to know as the elevator arrived on the top floor.

"No. The class-4 is not here." Egon changed the settings and frowned. "But there is a very weak reading similar to the one I picked up in the grave as well."

"The Merlin's skull?" the occultist asked.

"Yes."

"Then it is here?" Fraser wanted to know.

"No." Egon shook his head. "It was here and just recently. The readings are too weak for it to still be here. I believe that Randolph took it out of whatever safe he kept it in and plans to hide it somewhere else. Maybe he got nervous after you and Ray visited him."

"Very likely. That's why he left early today," Fraser mused as he watched the numbers of the elevator's display. They were going down again.

"Correct." Egon switched back to the previous setting, but again received no single reading from the ghost they were looking for.

"Then he's at home," Ray now said. "We have to get there to help Detective Vecchio and Peter! If the ghost is after the skull, he'll be there!"

The physicist nodded and switched off the P.K.E. meter.  The elevator stopped on the ground floor and they hurried through the entrance hall. Fraser nodded to Katy Juliet and she smiled at him. Minutes later Ray drove down the street, heading for the out-of-town address of Harold Randolph,

 

* * *

 

"Looka here," Peter whistled and watched as Harold Randolph drove his silver Mercedes up the street and stopped in front of his home. "Mr. Randolph."

Ray Vecchio nodded. "What now?"

"You're asking me?" Peter shrugged. "We're just watchers. We have to wait and see if the ghost pops up. If it doesn't come here, good for us. if it does ... we'll see what we do then."

"You're so encouraging, Dr. Venkman," the detective said sarcastically.

"Hey, look, he's carrying something!" Peter suddenly hissed and pointed at Randolph.

The banker had taken some kind of small box out of the trunk of his car and was now carrying it to the house. It wasn't a large box, but for Peter it had the right size to hide a skull in.

"You think ..." Vecchio began.

"I do," the Ghostbuster affirmed and opened the car's passenger door.

"Where do you think you're going, Venkman?" Ray wanted to know.

"I'll go and make a house call," the Ghostbuster replied. "If that's really the skull we're gonna get it back -- and maybe save Randolph's life with it." He began to walk toward the house.

Vecchio cursed in Italian. This guy was just as bad as Fraser! He got out of the car, too, and followed Venkman up to the house.

 

 

Peter walked determinedly toward the large house. He heard Vecchio running up to him and smiled.

"You know we don't have a search warrant, Venkman," the detective grumbled.

"I know. But we're not here to search the house." He held up the P.K.E. meter. "We're here to make sure Mr. Randolph doesn't end up in your hospital morgue."

A soft 'blip' aroused Peter's attention.

"Oh-oh," he muttered and stopped from ringing the bell. Instead he turned some dials on the meter. The blip stayed and grew stronger.

"Oh-oh-what?" Vecchio asked and there was a nervous tone in his voice.

"Oh-oh, we're about to get company," the Ghostbuster explained and hit the bell button.

After a few minutes the door opened and a servant stood in front of them. "Yes?" he asked politely.

"Dr. Peter Venkman, Ghostbuster," Peter said and gave the servant his most winning smile. "We're here to talk to Mr. Randolph."

"Do you have an appointment?" the aged man asked.

Peter's smile broadened. "Not yet, but I'm sure he'll talk to us if we wait for a few more minutes."

The servant lifted one eyebrow, visibly perplexed by the answer. "If you may wait here," he then said. "I'll tell Mr. Randolph you have arrived."

He left the door slightly open and disappeared. Peter waggled his eyebrows at Vecchio and pushed the door open.

"You know that this is breaking and entering," the detective remarked, but made no move to stop him.

"We're not breaking anything, Detective," Peter told him in a lecturing voice, "We're simply entering." With that he stepped into the house.

Ray Vecchio sighed and followed. Peter looked at the read-out screen of the P.K.E. meter again and frowned in worry. The readings of the class-4 were getting stronger by the second. He wished Egon was here. And Ray. It looked like a confrontation with the ghost was imminent.

"Gentlemen," a voice called and both men looked up.

Harold Randolph walked down the steps from the second floor and smiled widely at them.

"What can I do for the Ghostbusters?" he asked.

Peter smiled back. "We're here on business matters. Yours and ours," he replied.

"Oh?" Randolph gave him an innocent look. "I don't recall ever doing business with your company, Mr. .....?"

"Venkman, Dr. Peter Venkman. And no, we're not talking about past business. We're talking future business connections."

The banker looked surprised. "I don't think we can get together, Dr. Venkman, since I don't have any ghost problems here or at work."

Peter smiled benignly. "You might soon find that you have a hell of a ghost problem."

"I don't think I can follow you." Randolph spread his hands.

"I'm talking about the Merlin's skull," Peter went on, still friendly, still polite. "We have information that you own it."

"Then your information are wrong."

Vecchio raised both eyebrows. "Oh, I don't think so. Our source is very reliable, Mr. Randolph."

"And you are ...?"

"Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago Police." Ray flashed his badge under the other man's nose.

"Do you have a search warrant?" Randolph asked coldly.

"We're not here to search anything," Peter said. "We're here to tell you a little story and deliver a warning."

"Don't threaten me, Dr. Venkman," the grey-haired man growled.

"Who's is threatening?" Now it was Peter's turn to look innocent. "I'm merely trying to help you. The skull is dangerous, not in itself, but because of the guy who wants it back."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the ghost of Ernest MacGray, who took it very personally that you stole something that is his." Peter smiled.

Randolph laughed out aloud. "The ghost of Ernest MacGray? Don't make me laugh, Dr. Venkman. That's ridiculous!"

"I don't think you'll find it funny anymore when he arrives here to claim back what is really his," Venkman informed him seriously. "The ghost already killed one man and tried to kill another today." He held up the P.K.E. meter, which blipped continually now and from the look on the screen it was likely they would get a visitor from the Other Side soon. "This is MacGray, coming here. He knows you have the skull and he wants it back. He won't shy away from one murder more or less."

Randolph's eyes fixed on the screen and he paled a bit. "You're lying. This is a set-up. I'm calling the police."

Ray grinned. "The police is already here, Mr. Randolph. It's the ghost I'd worry about."

The P.K.E. meter gave a warning hum and the arms of the little device rose further.

"This isn't a set-up," Peter informed the banker. "This is reality. Now, where is the skull?"

Harold Randolph looked around as if he tried to spot the ghost. The beeping of the meter did its part to make him very nervous.

"Where is it, Randolph?" Ray barked and the man flinched.

"It's in the study," he whispered. "Upstairs."

Before Ray or Peter could say anything else there was a howling noise and Randolph screamed. Vecchio saw the same transparent and bluish glowing apparition from the alley materialize in the middle of the entrance hall. Its yellow eyes fixed on Randolph and then it zeroed in on him. Randolph screamed in terror and held up his hands as if to ward off the attack.

Peter acted fast. They had no weapons, just the modified P.K.E. meter. He pushed the button Egon had explained would activate the sound wave. A high-pitched whine echoed through the room and the ghost stopped dead in his flight. It howled in annoyance and his glowing stare fixed on Peter. The psychologist gulped nervously.  Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

"Get the skull," he ordered, addressing Ray Vecchio, who stood like rooted to the spot beside him.

"What?"

"Get upstairs and get the skull!" Peter repeated the order.

Vecchio did what he had been told and edged toward the stairs. The ghost followed him with its eyes, but didn't make any moves. It simply hovered there, the sound keeping it occupied with keeping his molecules together. It didn't look like it would break apart anytime soon, merely annoyed by the fact that ist edges were frazzling.

"Mr. MacGray?" Peter addressed the ghost and the apparition growled. The psychologist smiled a bit. "I know why you've come here and we want to help you. It's the Merlin's skull, right?"

A loud roar affirmed that. The ghost tried to move toward Randolph again, who cowered at the stairs, shaking badly. Peter turned up the volume of the sound and the apparition stopped again, hissing wildly.

"No more killing," Peter admonished. "We'll give you the skull and you can go wherever you want to go, all right?"

MacGray's ghost regarded him a long time, the glow in his eyes diminishing a bit. That was the second Ray Vecchio pounded down the stairs, carrying the artifact. Peter turned a bit, but never leaving the ghost out of his sight.

"Got it," the Detective announced and held the skull out to Venkman.

The Ghostbuster took it carefully and handed the P.K.E. meter over to Ray. "Just hold it," he instructed the police officer. "Don't touch anything."

Ray, his face pale, nodded. "Okay."

 _To be or not to be_ , Peter thought with black humor and looked at the grinning skull in his hands. It was as large as the skull of a human being, just the skullpan was missing. The eyesockets were filled with blue stones, which seemed to glow with their own inner light. The surface was very smooth and cool. He shivered a bit and then concentrated on the ghost again.

MacGray had grown very silent and expectant, hovering nearly peacefully in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on Peter. The psychologist inhaled deeply and stepped forward.

"This is what you wanted all along, right?" he asked the ghost. "I'll give it to you if you promise not to kill either Alec Dawson or Harold Randolph."

The ghost hissed again, looking at Randolph, then back at the skull. It nodded.

"Okay," Peter said with a small smile, holding out the skull. "Word of honor, right?"

Another growl, which sounded like an affirmative.

"No!" Randolph suddenly wailed. "It's mine! I looked for it such a long time and it's mine!"

With a sudden burst of energy the banker pushed himself out of his sitting position. He jumped for the skull, which was on Peter's outstretched palm. Ray Vecchio let go of the P.K.E. meter, which fell to the floor and -- unluckily -- switched off. The high-pitched sound stopped. The detective tried to get a hold of the other man, but Randolph was driven by an inner force to get to the skull. His fist crashed into Ray's ribs and the police officer fell to the floor with a groan.

Peter turned his head at the sudden outcry and saw what had happened. The ghost, no longer kept in its place by the sound, roared. Randolph tackled Peter around the waist and both men fell to the floor. The Ghostbuster gasped for air as the breath was driven out of his lungs by Randolph's weight on him. The skull went flying from his hands and bounced off the floor. Randolph scrambled to his feet and grabbed it, giggling nervously.

"It's mine!" he chanted. "All mine!"

The roar of the ghost deafened everyone, and Peter, from his supine position, saw the ghost move in on the banker.

"No!" he gasped, trying to struggle to his feet, too. "Give it to MacGray!"

"No, never! It's mine. Mine, mine and mine alone!" Randolph laughed a crazy laugh and hugged the skull to his chest.

MayGray swooped down and Randolph screamed in terror.

"MacGray!" Peter shouted, finally back on his feet. "NO!" He put all the authority and command he could muster into his voice.

The ghost stopped almost obediently, but was close enough to kill Randolph with one swipe.

"Take the skull, but don't kill him!" Peter begged. "There has been enough of that."

Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Vecchio walking up him, holding his hurting ribs.

"That man," Peter said and gestured at Ray, "is a police officer. He will arrest Randolph for all he did."

He stepped closer to the ghost, which only stared at him. Randolph lay curled on the floor, giggling and sobbing in one.

"Take the skull," Peter said calmly, calmer than he felt. It still was hard to breathe normally. "That's all you want. Killing is no alternative. We will arrest Randolph and he'll be charged and tried. Please ...."

The ghost reached for the skull and plucked it out of Randolph's limp grip. The banker didn't even flinch. His eyes were fixed on the ghost with wide-eyed terror. The moment the class-4 held the skull in its hands, the blue sockets of the artifact began to glow.

Peter gulped, hoping they had done the right thing. If MacGray planned anything with this powerful object ....

The ghost turned fully toward Peter, regarding the human with an impassive, yellow stare.

 _"Thank you,"_ it said with a deep, cold voice and dissolved.

Peter exhaled the breath he had held and felt like melting down into a puddle. This had been closer than he had wanted it to be.

"You are under arrest," he heard Vecchio's slightly shaky voice. He discovered the detective kneeling beside the banker. "You have the right to remain silent ....."

"Peter!"

The call made Peter turn around and a smile crossed his lips as he discovered Ray, Egon and Fraser standing in the doorway.

"Hi, guys," he greeted them weakly. "You're a little bit too late. The party is over." He gestured toward Randolph. "But we reserved some of the main course for you, too."

"What happened?" Ray Stantz wanted to know, looking from the P.K.E. meter lying on the floor to the sobbing Randolph and the pale Peter Venkman.

Vecchio pushed his prisoner toward the group of Ghostbusters and a Mountie. "It's a long story," he answered the occultist's question. "And I wish I knew how to write it in my report."

 

* * *

 

Winston Zeddemore shook his head. "Can't leave you guys alone for just a few days, can I? I'm gone for a visit and you guys start ghosthunting on your own." He shook his head again.

"We had to do it, Winston," Ray said. "The ghost would have gone on killing innocent people if we hadn't returned the skull."

"And now it's gone?"

"As far as my theory goes," Egon explained, "MacGray dissolved peacefully and took the Merlin's skull with him. There shouldn't be any more problems."

"I really hope so," Peter muttered and stretched on the hotel bed.

Winston chuckled. "And that's our hero."

Peter struck a pose, as far as that was possible in his partly supine position. "Hey, I was the one talking that ghost into going away. It could have killed us all."

"Only too true," Egon acknowledged, a serious expression on his face. "It could have killed you even after you had given him what it had come for."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, but I thought that a guy like MacGray would keep his word and go after I gave him the skull. It was a gamble, but it was a gamble I won." He smiled cockily. "The Venkman luck."

"What about Randolph?" Winston wanted to know.

"I talked to Detective Vecchio yesterday," Egon explained. "He said that charges would be pressed since Alec Dawson is ready to sign a statement. He'll get reduced time in prison for it since he didn't kill the guard. That was Nowak."

They all nodded. Randolph hadn't killed anybody, but through his actions had been responsible for the death of Zach Nowak and for the attempt on Dawson's and Vecchio's own life, and Peter was sure that Vecchio found a way to charge him with that, too, in addition to all the other charges. Randolph would go behind bars for good.

"We should pack our things," Ray said. "We have to leave the hotel room until eleven and we still have to give back the rental car since Winston and Ecto-1 are back."

Peter sat upright. "Finally! We're leaving this dreadful place!"

"Aw, it wasn't that bad, Peter!" Ray protested.

"Sure, in the end we had not only bad weather, we also had murderous ghosts and magical objects." Peter shrugged. "What else can you wish for on your holidays?"

 

 

An hour later they had packed and checked out, loaded Ecto-1 and were on their way to give back the car. After accomplishing that, Ray voted for dropping by the precinct and saying good-bye to Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser. Winston agreed on that, as did Egon and Peter, since the black Ghostbuster wanted to meet the Mountie he had heard so much about.

The precinct looked like it had done in the last few days -- mostly empty of officers. Elaine Besbriss seemed to have her off-time, much to Peter's disappointment, since he couldn't spot her anywhere. But they could see -- or better: hear -- Ray Vecchio. A loud sneeze told him he was in.

"Bless you," someone said and Peter recognized Benton Fraser, who held out a Kleenex to his friend. The Mountie could not be missed, as he was wearing his red dress uniform.

Vecchio snatched it from the outstretched hand and glared at the Canadian. "There's nothing to bless with this blasted cold," he croaked, sounding worse than the last days.

"It's only a common saying," Fraser said.

"Maybe in Canada, but not in the States," the detective grumbled from behind the Kleenex.

"Hey, Vecchio," Peter greeted the man with a cheerful smile, which evicted another sour expression. "How ya doin'?"

"Better than you in a minute if you don't turn down the volume and stop grinning," was the reply.

Fraser nodded politely at the four Ghostbusters and introduced himself to Winston, who returned the favor.

"We just wanted to say good-bye," Ray Stantz explained. "Our holiday time is over."

"What a relief," Vecchio mumbled.

Fraser grimaced and seemed ready to excuse his friend's bad manners, but then decided otherwise.

"Hey, if you miss us, you can always come to New York and pay us a visit," Peter invited them.

"Thank you," Fraser said.

"Not on your life," was all Ray Vecchio had to say, but there was an amused glint in his brown eyes.

"Okay, team, let's roll," Winston broke up the friendly chatting. "We have a long way ahead of us and I don't intend to search for a motel in the dark in the middle of nowhere."

"If that's an implication, Winston, then you know what you can do with it," Peter said, slightly piqued.

Zeddemore's eyebrows rose in an innocent manner. "I'm not implying anything, Peter. I just don't like spending two hours on some forlorn street, searching for non-existent buildings."

"It was on the map," Venkman grumbled.

"Which you read wrong," the other Ghostbuster retorted and pushed the psychologist toward the exit of the squad room.

"See ya," Ray called and waved to the Mountie and Vecchio.

 

Ray Veccio watched the four men disappear. "What a bunch of crazy guys," he commented and sneezed again.

Fraser only shrugged. "No more crazy than any of us."

That brought him a suspicious look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Benton Fraser shrugged again. "You know, now that this case is solved, together with a second case, I think it would be time for you to go on sick leave. Your cold has grown worse."

"My cold has done no such thing. I'm just fine." He sniffled. "But I'm gonna take the rest of the day off and spend it in bed, watching the game," he added as if to appease his Canadian friend.

Fraser looked satisfied. "I could make you one of the medicines my grandmother used to when I was sick," he said.

Ray held up his hands in horror. "No! No Inuit medicine, no homebrewed concoctions, Fraser!" He rose to his feet and grabbed his coat. "What if it is poisonous?"

"But it isn't, Ray," Fraser told his friend and followed him. "My grandmother gave it to me whenever I was sick and I wasn't poisoned by it."

"You're Canadian," was all Ray said.

"I don't think that Canadians have a different metabolism from other people," Fraser began. The rest of the explanation was lost to those few officers in the squad room listening to Ray's ravings, since the door closed after the unusual pair.


End file.
